V 


*      DEC  11  1911 


V.2. 


STUDIES  OF  THE  PORTRAIT 
OF  CHRIST 


STUDIES  OF  THE 
PORTRAIT  OF  CHRIST 

BY  THE  REV.  GEORGE    MATHESON 

M.A.,  D.D.,  F.R.S.E.,  FORMERLY  MINISTER 

OF  THE  PARISH  OF  ST.  BERNARD'S 

EDINBURGH 


\ 


/Tt^V  GF  P:'?,'.v,t7 


;*      DcCiilQli 
VOLUME  II  ^<i£5/CAL  SE^'\^ 


SIXTH    EDITION 


NEW    YORK 

A.     C.     ARMSTRONG     AND     SON 

3  AND  5  WEST   iSth  STREET 
1907 


Edinburgh  ;  T.  and  A.  Constable   Printers  to  His  ^lajesty 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  VOLUME 

My  design  in  this  book  is  to  study,  not  the 
portraits,  but  the  Portrait,  of  Christ.  I  am 
not  concerned  with  the  products  of  Italian 
art,  I  am  not  occupied  with  a  criticism  of 
the  various  views  which  have  been  taken  of 
Christ  in  literature.  I  am  not  even  engaged 
in  a  comparison  of  the  four  aspects  of  Christ 
in  the  New  Testament.  The  Portrait  which 
I  study  is  one  hung  up  in  the  heart — the 
combined  effect  of  all  the  different  aspects 
which  the  Gospels  reveal. 

The  work  is  not  critical,  but  introspective. 
I  do  not  seek  to  paint  a  Christ ;  I  stand 
before  the  Christ  already  painted,  and  try 
to  analyse  its  Features.  Necessarily,  I  limit 
myself   to   that   which  is   human.      There  is 


VI  PREFACE 

something  which  is  Divine  ;  but,  just  because 
it  is  Divine,  it  defies  my  analysis.  These 
pages  confine  themselves  to  that  element  in 
Jesus  which  grew.  They  seek  to  trace  the 
steps  of  the  process  by  which  His  earthly 
work  was  developed — from  the  dawning  of 
the  great  resolve  to  the  dying  on  the  Cross. 
To  complete  the  design  I  shall  require  to 
extend  this  work  into  another  volume ;  the 
present  reaches  only  to  the  Desert  of  Beth- 

saida. 

G.  M. 

Edinburgh,  Scotland. 


PREFACE 

I  HERE  resume  the  Narrative  from  the  point 
at  which  my  first  volume  closed — the  feeding 
of  the  multitude  in  the  desert  of  Bethsatda, 
To  every  word  of  the  previous  Preface  I 
adhere ;  I  add  a  few  remarks  by  way  of 
elucidation.  By  the  Title  of  this  Book  I  do 
not  mean  a  study  of  the  different  Portraits 
which  have  been  drawn  of  Christ,  nor  even 
a  comparison  of  the  Pictures  drawn  by  the 
Four  Evangelists.  The  Portrait  of  Christ  is 
to  me  the  united  impression  produced  upon 
the  heart  by  these  four  delineations.  My 
office  is  not  that  of  a  critic,  not  that  of  a 
creator,  not  that  of  an  amender,  but  simply 
that  of  an  interpreter;  I  study  the  Picture 
as  it  is. 

I  am  glad  that  the  reception  by  the  public 
has  invited  me  to  pursue  the  subject.  I  am 
specially  glad  that  I  have  not  been  suspected 
of  a   wish    to    minimise    the    Divine   side   of 


PREFACE 

Christianity.  I  have  been  for  years  persuaded, 
and  with  an  ever-increasing  conviction,  that 
there  is  an  element  in  Christ  which  is  not  to 
be  explained  by  the  stream  of  human  heredity, 
but  which  implies  an  original  Divine  Sonship, 
But  there  is  also  confessedly  that  which  was 
human — that  which  hungered,  thirsted,  hoped, 
feared,  grew.  I  believe  it  grew  into  a  pro- 
gressive recognition  of  the  steps  of  that 
redeeming  work  for  the  sake  of  which  He 
was  born,  and  which  was  already  completed 
in  the  heart  of  the  Father — that  work  whose 
every  step  was  an  act  in  that  great  Death- 
Sacrifice  which  reached  from  the  depths  of  the 
Wilderness  to  the  heights  of  Calvary.  The 
light  which  is  a  unity  in  the  sky  is  given  in 
fragments  by  the  pool ;  even  so  on  the  waters 
of  earth  was  the  plan  of  the  Father  revealed  in 
fragments.  The  aim  of  this  book  is  to  piece 
these  fragments.  I  have  alluded  only  to  those 
incidents  which  bear  on  the  development. 
For  this  reason  I  have  paused  at  Calvary, 
which  is  professedly  the  development's  close. 

G.  M. 

Edinburgh,  igoo. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER     I 

PAGE 

THE  FADING  OF  CHRIST'S   FIRST  HOPE,  I 


CHAPTER     II 
THE  SECOND   HOPE  OF  JESUS,     .  .  .  .  1 5 

CHAPTER     III 
THE   SHADOWS   OF   JERUSALEM,  ....  30 

CHAPTER     IV 
THE  PROGRESS  TOWARDS   JERUSALEM,       .  .  44 

CHAPTER     V 
ON   THE  MOUNT, 59 

CHAPTER     VI 
THE  EFFECT  OF   THE  MOUNT  ON  THE  PLAIN    .  73 


X  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER     VII 

THE  UNCHASTE   LIFE, 


CHAPTER     VIII 
CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  JERUSALEM  MINISTRY,       I03 

CHAPTER     IX 
THE  ALTAR   AND  THE   HEARTH,  .  .  II8 

CHAPTER     X 
THE   ATTEMPT  TO   ANTEDATE  CALVARY,     .  .  132 

CHAPTER     XI 

THE      UNIQUE      FEATURE     OF     THE      CASE      OF 

LAZARUS, 146 

CHAPTER    XII 
EFFECTS   OF   THE   LAZARUS   EPISODE,  .  .  161 

CHAPTER     XIII 
THE  ANOINTING   AT   BETHANY,    ....  17$ 


CONTENTS  xi 


CHAPTER    XIV 

PAGE 

THE  COSMOPOLITAN  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS  190 


CHAPTER     XV 
JUDAS 205 

CHAPTER     XVI 
THE  OPENING  OF  THE  SECOND  COMMUNION,   .  219 

CHAPTER     XVII 
GETHSEMANE, 234 

CHAPTER     XVIII 
GETHSEMANE — Continued, 249 

CHAPTER     XIX 
THE  MENTAL  EFFECT  OF  GETHSEMANE,    .  .  264 

CHAPTER     XX 
THE  PHYSICAL  EFFECT  OF  GETHSEMANE,  .  280 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER     XXI 

PAGE 

THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD,        ....  295 


CHAPTER     XXII 
THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD — Continued^  .         .         310 

CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE  MEANING  OF  EASTER   MORNING,  .  .  327 

CHAPTER     XXIV 
HAS  THE  CROWN   SUPERSEDED  THE  CROSS?      .  342 


CHAPTER   I 

THE  FADING  OF  CHRIST'S  FIRST  HOPE 

The  last  glimpse  we  had  of  the  Portrait  of 
Jesus  was  in  a  light  beginning  to  be  overcast. 
He  had  crossed  a  transition  line.  In  the  very 
blaze  of  His  fame  He  had  met  with  His  first 
real  disappointment.  I  say  'disappointment,' 
not  'reverse.'  The  crowd  had  not  deserted 
Him ;  He  had  fled  from  the  crowd.  He  had 
found  that  He  and  they  were  seeking  different 
things.  His  solitude  was  as  yet  only  inward. 
The  multitude  were  still  on  His  side,  but  He 
felt  that  they  were  on  His  side  by  reason  of 
a  delusion.  He  perceived  that  He  and  they 
were  using  the  phrase  '  kingdom  of  God '  in  a 
different  sense,  in  an  opposite  sense.  To  them 
it  meant  purple,  fine  linen,  faring  sumptuously 
every  day;  to  Hira  it  was  an  influence  from 
within,  which  would  make  even  vile  raiment 
beautiful. 

VOL.  II.  A 


a  THE  FADING  OF 

I  have  already  said  that  in  my  opinion  the 
earliest  hope  of  Jesus  was  that  during  His  life 
on  earth  He  might  witness  the  establishment 
of  a  kingdom  of  righteousness;  this  hope  I 
have  called  His  first  ideal.  I  have  also  ex- 
pressed my  view  of  the  nature  of  this  kingdom 
which  glittered  in  the  soul  of  Jesus.  I  should 
not  call  it  an  inward  kingdom.  It  was  rather 
a  kingdom  from  within.  It  did  contemplate 
an  influence  on  the  surface,  or,  rather,  a  series 
of  influences  in  which  different  men  were  to 
exert  on  society  different  degrees  of  power. 
But  then,  these  degrees  of  power  were  to  be 
proportionate  to  the  sacrificial  spirit.  The 
influence  was  not  to  interfere  from  the  outside. 
The  kingdom  of  Jesus  demanded  no  smashing 
up  of  the  Roman  Empire,  no  drastic  upheaval 
of  existing  orders.  It  was  to  be  something 
which  could  enter  the  present  dwelling  without 
breaking  the  doors.  It  was  to  come  silently, 
unobtrusively.  It  was  to  demand  no  extra 
space  ;  it  was  to  work,  like  the  leaven,  through 
existing  spaces.  Its  entrance  was  to  abolish 
nothing;   it  was  to   act   by  addition,  not  by 


CHRIST'S  FIRST  HOPE  3 

subtraction.  It  was  to  add  to  the  world  as  it 
then  stood  this  new  commandment,  *  Love  one 
another.' 

Such  was  the  ideal  that  Jesus  hoped  to 
realise  on  earth  while  He  should  still  be  on 
earth.  What  a  shock  to  this  hope  was  the 
attitude  of  that  crowd  in  the  desert  of  Beth- 
saida !  They  clamoured  for  a  social  revolu- 
tion ;  they  proposed  to  make  Him  a  king. 
They  had  been  quite  sincere  in  their  com- 
munion with  Jesus  ;  they  had  been  quite 
sincere  in  their  communion  with  one  another ; 
but  in  both  cases  they  had  mistaken  a  part 
for  the  whole.  Their  error  was  not  selfishness  ; 
they  were  quite  willing  to  pass  the  physical 
bread  as  well  as  to  appropriate  it.  Their  error 
lay  in  supposing  that  the  value  of  Christ's 
mission  was  merely  physical.  Their  reverence 
for  Him  was  deep,  but  it  was  based  on  a 
false  impression  It  rested  on  the  belief  that 
Christian  salvation  was  first  and  foremost  an 
external  thing,  and  that  the  beginning  and  end 
of  the  mission  of  Jesus  was  to  make  a  new 
division  of  the  outward  inheritance. 


4  THE  FADING  OF 

So  far,  it  was  only  a  little  cloud.  The 
multitude  were  as  yet  merely  on  the  threshold  ; 
they  could  not  be  expected  to  have  reached 
high  spiritual  views.  But  a  greater  blow  was 
coming.  Let  us  follow  the  stream  of  the 
narrative.  From  the  crowd  of  mistaken  friends 
in  the  desert  of  Bethsaida  Jesus  takes  refuge 
in  flight.  He  feels  that  the  kingdom  proposed 
by  them  is  a  travesty  \  He  is  alone  in  spirit 
and  He  longs  to  be  alone  in  fact.  He  retires 
into  the  mountain  recesses  where  the  historian 
cannot  follow  Him.  His  thoughts  must  have 
been  very  sad.  The  narrative  inadvertently 
reveals  this.  He  has  a  sleepless  night.  When 
others  are  in  the  arms  of  slumber,  in  the 
watches  of  the  dark  hours  He  crosses  the  Sea 
of  Galilee.  He  joins  the  band  of  original  dis- 
ciples— the  members  of  the  first  league  of  pity, 
and  those  whom  they  had  drawn  around  them. 
He  comes  into  Capernaum  —  the  city  of  His 
most  brilliant  triumphs — as  if  to  restore  His 
drooping  spirit  by  a  memory  of  the  past.  But 
the  pertinacious  crowd  will  not  leave  Him. 
They  follow  in  His  track ;  they  trace  Him  to 


CHRIST'S  FIRST  HOPE  5 

the  synagogue  of  Capernaum  ;  they  surround 
Him  there ;  the  experience  of  the  desert  is 
repeated  in  the  city.  Jesus  faces  them  with 
words  of  stern  rebuke.  He  tells  them  He  is 
not  deceived  by  their  homage.  He  tells  them 
He  is  quite  aware  they  are  seeking  Him  for 
less  than  the  highest  gift  He  has  to  bestow. 
And  then,  passing  from  rebuke  to  exhortation, 
He  delivers  to  them  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able sermons  on  record.  I  should  call  it  the 
third  epoch-making  sermon  of  His  life.  The 
first  was  at  Nazareth  ;  the  second  was  on  the 
summit  of  Hermon  ;  this  was  in  the  synagogue 
of  Capernaum. 

It  was  a  singular  scene  for  a  discourse  like 
this.  The  subject  of  the  sermon  was  the 
power  of  the  internal.  One  would  think  the 
last  place  for  such  a  theme  would  be  a  crowded 
assembly.  But  I  often  find  Jesus  choosing 
localities  by  contrast.  The  Sermon  on  the 
Mount  consists  of  precepts  which  are  only 
applicable  to  the  plain ;  the  sermon  in  the 
city  of  Capernaum  consists  of  precepts  which 
are  only  applicable  to  the  mount.     In  the  one, 


6  THE  FADING  OF 

Jesus  stands  above  the  world  and  tells  men 
how  to  live  below  ;  in  the  other,  Jesus  stands 
in  the  midst  of  the  world  and  tells  men  how 
to  live  above. 

I  think  the  scope  of  this  latter  sermon  has 
been  often  misunderstood.  It  contains  a  mass 
of  doctrine ;  but  this  is  parenthetical,  inci- 
dental. The  main  point  is  this,  'heavenly 
bread  is  better  than  earthly  bread  ;  the  things 
of  the  spirit  are  more  valuable  than  the  things 
of  the  flesh.'  Let  me  try  for  a  moment  to 
exhibit  the  sequence  of  the  passage ;  it  will 
be  found  in  St.  John  vi.  22-65.  Jesus  says: 
'You  have  erred  in  your  selection  of  diet. 
You  have  preferred  the  outward  bread ;  the 
inward  is  more  nourishing.  If  you  want 
lasting  happiness,  you  must  be  fed  from  within. 
Life's  outward  privileges  can  only  relieve 
symptoms ;  they  do  not  cure  the  actual  unrest. 
If  you  desire  lasting  happiness,  everlasting 
happiness,  happiness  that  will  raise  you  up 
even  at  the  day  of  extremity,  you  must  get, 
not  new  privileges,  but  new  life.  I  am  come 
to  give  you  this  new  life — this  inner  bread.' 


CHRIST'S  FIRST  HOPE  7 

But  so  materialised  are  that  multitude  that 
they  mistake  His  meaning.  The  only  notion 
they  can  form  of  inward  bread  is  that  of  out- 
ward bread  coming  down  from  heaven.  They 
interrupt  the  sermon — a  fact  which  itself  shows 
how  heated  they  are.  '  Oh  ! '  they  cry,  *  we 
shall  be  delighted.  You  are  speaking  of  the 
manna  which  Moses  brought  down  from  God — 
that  manna  which  gave  equal  privileges  to  all. 
And  you  tell  us  you  are  going  to  renew  that 
blessed  shower.  Will  you  not  favour  us  with 
an  instalment  now}  It  would  be  a  pledge,  a 
sign,  a  foretaste  of  the  glory  to  come.'  It  was 
no  sarcasm,  it  was  no  mockery ;  it  was  the 
utterance  of  a  sober  wish ;  and  there  lay  its 
saddest  feature.  Mockery  would  have  been  a 
sin  against  the  Son  of  Man ;  but  this  crude- 
ness  of  the  multitude  was  an  inability  to 
appreciate  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Jesus  answers :  '  It  is  not  the  coming  down 
from  heaven  that  makes  the  difference ;  it  is 
the  nature  of  the  descending  object.  Moses 
did  not  give  you  the  kind  of  bread  from 
heaven   which  /  offer  you.      His   manna,  in- 


8  THE  FADING  OF 

deed,  came  from  God  —  as  everything  else 
comes  from  God.  But  the  gifts  of  the  Father 
are  not  all  equally  durable ;  some  are  for  an 
hour,  others  are  for  eternity.  The  manna 
which  Moses  gave  you  was  from  above,  but 
it  was  only  for  the  hour ;  it  was  meant  for  the 
periodic  support  of  the  old  life.  But  the  bread 
which  /  give  you — which  is  also  from  above — 
has  a  ground  of  distinction  based  not  on  space 
but  on  time.  It  is  not  meant  simply  to  sustain 
the  old  life.  It  is  itself  new  life — "  life  more 
abundant."  Your  fathers  did  eat  the  old 
manna  and  are  dead ;  it  could  not  keep  them 
alive  amid  the  tear  and  wear  of  the  desert. 
But  the  bread  which  /  offer  you  will  be  life- 
giving,  strengthening.  It  will  sustain  your 
steps  in  weariness,  it  will  keep  your  feet  from 
falling,  it  will  prevent  your  heart  from  sinking ; 
it  will  raise  you  up  even  at  the  death  hour.' 

Such  was  the  subject  of  the  sermon.  Its 
subject  was  its  sting.  That  which  startled  the 
audience  was  not  Christ's  declaration  that  He 
was  the  bread  from  heaven  ;  it  was  His  declara- 
tion that  the  bread  from  heaven  was  different 


CHRIST'S  FIRST  HOPE  9 

from  the  physical  manna.  They  felt  like  men 
who  had  asked  a  coin  and  had  received  a  tract. 
What  was  this  impalpable  thing  they  were 
promised  ?  Had  anybody  seen  it  ?  had  any- 
body weighed  it?  had  anybody  measured  it? 
Did  it  add  to  the  size}  Did  it  intensify  the 
strength  ?  Did  it  increase  the  social  position  ? 
Had  it  any  mercantile  value,  any  political 
value?  If  not,  what  was  the  use  of  it?  what 
was  the  gain  of  it  ?  So  they  asked  with  ever 
increasing  murmurs.  From  time  to  time  the 
sermon  was  interrupted.  Then  came  a  novel 
experience.  On  former  occasions  we  are 
always  told  *  He  sent  the  multitude  away ' ; 
here  the  multitude  go  away.  Slowly  but 
surely  the  house  empties  itself.  One  by  one 
the  listeners  drop  out  of  the  synagogue.  The 
multitude  that  had  followed  from  the  desert 
disperse.  But  that  is  not  the  deepest  dis- 
appointment. If  the  secession  had  been  con- 
fined to  the  converts  of  yesterday  it  could 
have  been  explained  on  the  ground  of  their 
immaturity.  But  it  was  not  confined  to  them. 
Amongst  the   deserters   were   converts  of  an 


lo  THE  FADING  OF 

earlier  day — men  who  had  promised  better 
things,  'from  that  time  forth  many  of  His 
disciples  went  back  and  walked  no  more  with 
Him.'  Jesus  felt  as  if  His  work  was  about  to  be 
torn  up  from  the  foundation.  There  is  a  whole 
world  of  despair  in  the  question  He  addressed 
to  the  original  Twelve,  '  Will  ye  also  go  away  ? ' 
But  what  is  the  despair?  Do  you  imagine 
it  is  the  grief  of  a  once  popular  preacher  for 
the  decline  of  his  popularity?  You  must  dis- 
miss that  from  your  mind  now,  henceforth, 
and  for  ever.  You  will  never  dismiss  it  from 
your  mind  unless  you  keep  fast  hold  of  the 
golden  chain  which  binds  the  life  of  Jesus — 
His  mission  for  the  sake  of  the  Father.  I 
affirm  that  in  the  whole  march  up  the  dolorous 
way  there  is  not  one  step  of  personal  sorrow. 
This  is  distinctively  the  first  step  of  that  march; 
and  it  deserves  to  be  registered.  Jesus  experi- 
ences a  bitter  disappointment.  He  feels  that 
the  world  is  less  ripe  for  His  kingdom  than  He 
had  deemed.  He  feels  that  He  will  need  to 
abandon  His  beautiful  dream — the  dream  of  re- 
maining to  establish  a  kingdom  of  God  below. 


CHRIST'S  FIRST  HOPE  ii 

It  had  been  His  life-dream,  His  love-dream. 
Not  for  His  own  glory  had  He  cherished  it,  but 
for  the  glory  of  the  Father.  In  the  unrecorded 
days  of  youth  He  had  felt  a  Divine  passion — 
a  passion  to  make  the  Father  glad.  There 
had  come  to  Him  the  bold  desire  to  compen- 
sate the  heart  of  God.  He  had  entered  into 
sympathy  with  that  heart ;  He  had  felt  its 
throbbing ;  He  had  experienced  its  craving. 
Above  all,  He  had  experienced  its  unsatisfied- 
ness.  He  had  realised  how  little  the  world 
had  responded  to  that  heart,  how  little  return 
it  had  given.  He  had  felt  dismayed,  appalled. 
He  had  asked,  '  Can  I  do  anything  to  atone 
— through  myself,  through  others  ?  *  It  was  a 
bold  question ;  and  He  had  answered  it  yet 
more  boldly.  He  had  proposed  to  give  His 
life  to  the  Father  to  make  up  for  a  world's 
neglect — to  go  wherever  He  should  lead,  to 
surrender  His  will  from  dawn  to  dark.  And 
there  had  risen  the  fond  hope  that  ere  the 
earthly  day  was  done  He  might  see  with 
earthly  eyes  the  founding  of  a  kingdom  of 
righteousness. 


12  THE  FADING  OF 

And  now  that  hope  had  faded.  He  had 
found  that  the  world  was  not  ready,  nay,  that 
His  own  disciples  were  not  ready.  I  believe 
it  was  now  that  He  first  said  to  Himself — not 
for  the  last  time,  '  I  have  a  baptism  to  be 
baptized  with,  and  how  am  I  straitened  till  it 
be  accomplished ! '  What  does  He  mean  by 
these  words?  That  He  is  oppressed  by  the 
weight  of  His  own  surrender?  Exactly  the 
reverse.  He  means  that  He  is  oppressed  by 
the  hindrances  to  His  surrender.  Men  will  not 
come  to  Him,  will  not  think  with  Him,  will 
not  see  with  Him.  They  refuse  to  behold  the 
glory  of  that  which  He  beholds — a  kingdom 
whose  steps  of  promotion  are  to  be  altar- 
stones  and  whose  badge  of  dominion  is  to  be 
the  bearing  of  a  cross.  We  speak  of  the 
humiliation  of  Jesus.  He  had  humiliation  ; 
but  it  lay  not  where  it  is  supposed  to  lie.  It 
is  supposed  to  He  in  His  sacrifice ;  it  lay  in  the 
barrier  to  His  sacrifice.  Whatever  impeded 
the  offering  up  of  His  life  to  the  Father,  what- 
ever interfered  with  the  surrender  of  His  human 
will — that  was  His  humiliation,  that  was  His 


CHRIST'S  FIRST  HOPE  13 

straitenedness  !  I  call  this  desertion  at  Caper- 
naum the  first  step  in  the  humiliation  of  Jesus. 
I  call  it  so  not  because  it  exposed  Him  to  the 
cross,  but  because  it  sought  to  divert  Him  from 
the  cross.  It  put  a  wall  between  Him  and  His 
sacrificial  work.  It  destroyed  the  first  dream 
of  His  filial  love — the  hope  that  now  and  here 
He  might  raise  a  holy  temple  to  the  glory  of 
the  Father. 


A  ND  yet,  Thou  Divine  Man,  I  am  glad  that 
•^*-  Thou  hast  felt  this  experience  of  faded 
hope.  I  should  like  Thee  to  share  all  my 
experiences.  It  would  pain  me  to  feel  that  / 
had  a  phase  of  life  which  was  foreign  to  Thee. 
I  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  withered  hope  ;  it 
is  worse  than  a  withered  flower.  The  flower 
has  had  its  day  and  has  fulfilled  its  mission ; 
but  the  day  of  the  hope's  fulfilment  has  never 
come.  /  know  what  it  is  to  see  the  fading  of 
an  ideal  dream  ;  there  have  been  to  me  few 
deeper  bereavements.  Therefore  I  am  glad 
that  across  even  that  river  of  trouble  there  is 


14     FADING  OF  CHRIST'S  FIRST  HOPE 

a  bridge  to  Thee.  I  should  have  felt  a  great 
blank  if  there  had  been  no  communication 
here.  They  tell  me  Thou  wert '  tempted  in  all 
things.'  I  bless  the  Father  that  the  withered 
dream  was  one  of  Thy  temptations,  because  it 
is  one  of  mine.  I  bless  Thee  that  it  did  not 
wither  Thy  heart,  because  it  will  help  me  to 
keep  my  heart  green.  My  hope  has  been 
enlarged  by  the  fading  of  Thy  hope.  It  tells 
me  that  the  moment  of  disappointment  may 
be  a  Divine  moment ;  it  reminds  me  that  the 
hour  of  retreat  may  be  the  advance  of  God.  I 
shall  gather  the  faded  flowers  from  the  garden 
of  Thy  withered  dream. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE   SECOND   HOPE   OF  JESUS 

There  is  nothing  to  my  mind  more  certain 
than  the  gradual  character  of  Christ's  human 
foresight.  The  historian  says  He  grew  in 
knowledge.  The  knowledge  in  which  He  was 
to  grow  was  the  knowledge  of  His  destiny. 
His  mission  was  to  be  revealed  to  Him  step 
by  step.  The  order  of  revelation  was  to  be 
from  above  to  below.  The  cloud  was  first  to 
be  lifted  from  the  height.  Jesus  was  to  see 
His  mission  as  a  whole  before  He  saw  it 
in  part.  I  believe  the  events  were  to  be 
revealed  to  Him  backward  as  they  were  to 
His  future  apostle,  the  man  of  Tarsus. 
The  end  was  to  be  shown  before  the 
beginning.  In  point  of  fact,  His  first  vision 
was  the  vision  of  glory.  The  salvation  was 
seen  completed,  the  kingdom  won.    The  inter- 

16 


i6        THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS 

mediate  shades  were  omitted  from  the  picture. 
The  consummation  appeared  without  per- 
spective. The  offering  to  the  Father  was  to 
be  an  offering  of  unobstructed  righteousness. 
We  have  seen  how  there  had  flashed  through 
the  soul  of  Jesus  the  ideal  of  an  earthly 
kingdom  of  God  which  He  Himself  should 
remain  to  establish.  The  last  thing  had,  to 
His  vision,  been  made  the  first.  To-morrow 
had  taken  the  place  of  to-day.  The  triumph 
seemed  nearer  than  it  was.  The  grapes  of 
Eshcol  had  been  revealed,  not  as  the  fruits 
of  a  promised  land,  but  as  the  fruits  of  a 
present  vintage  which  was  now  ready  to  be 
gathered. 

But  now,  over  this  first  dream  we  have  seen 
the  cloud  fall.  Jesus  found  that  the  vintage 
was  not  ready,  that  within  the  limits  of  His 
earthly  life  it  could  not,  on  natural  principles, 
be  ready.  This  first  hope  must  be  abandoned. 
But  abandoned  for  what?  For  despair?  No, 
for  a  second  hope.  This  cloud  of  Jesus  was 
itself  a  revelation.  His  Father  was  leading 
Him  over  the   field,  not  from  the  beginning 


THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS         17 

to  the  end,  but  from  the  end  to  the  beginning. 
The  last  had  come  first — the  vision  of  final 
glory.  The  falling  of  the  cloud  over  that 
glory  was  not  a  call  to  despair ;  it  was  a  call 
to  see  more.  It  was  an  invitation  to  accept 
a  less  roseate  view,  to  seek  a  fulfilment  of 
His  mission  in  less  brilliant  circumstances. 
The  cloud  which  covered  one  part  of  His 
sky  had  rolled  away  from  another.  A  new 
possibility  had  opened.  At  the  very  moment 
when  the  first  hope  was  assailed,  at  the  very 
moment  when  Jesus  was  turning  His  eye 
regretfully  backward,  that  eye  caught  sight 
of  a  line  of  retreat — a  line  from  which  might 
possibly  be  recruited  the  shattered  ranks  of 
the  army  of  salvation. 

What  was  this  line  of  retreat?  I  think 
you  will  find  a  suggestion  of  its  nature  in 
the  very  sermon  we  have  been  considering 
in  the  previous  chapter.  Near  the  close  of 
that  sermon  there  occurs  a  remarkable  passage 
which  is  thus  rendered :  '  Does  this  offend 
you?  What  if  ye  shall  see  the  Son  of  Man 
ascend  up  where  He  was  before  1 '    So  rendered, 

VOL,  II.  B 


i8        THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS 

it  is  made  to  read  thus :  *  Are  you  surprised 
at  my  saying  that  I  have  come  down  from 
heaven?  That  surprise  will  be  taken  away 
if  you  see  that  I  have  the  power  to  go  up 
to  heaven.'  In  a  discourse  on  the  power  of 
the  inward,  could  you  imagine  Jesus  resort- 
ing to  such  an  external  argument?  I  cannot. 
Besides,  our  rendering  is  not  in  the  Greek. 
There  is  no  *  what '  in  the  original ;  it  is  simply 
*if  ye  shall  see  the  Son  of  Man  ascend  up 
where  He  was  before.' 

How  shall  we  explain  this  strange,  paren- 
thetical, seemingly  disjointed  utterance?  It  is 
my  opinion  that  the  words  were  spoken  by 
Jesus  in  soliloquy.  He  was  thinking  aloud, 
and  He  was  thinking  of  His  audience ;  but  I 
do  not  believe  he  was  addressing  His  audience. 
There  had  come  into  His  mind  a  new  sugges- 
tion. There  had  flashed  across  His  heart 
another  possibility — the  vision  of  a  road  to 
success,  less  immediate  indeed,  but  more  sure. 
Let  me  try  with  all  reverence  to  paraphrase 
the  thought  which  was  here  uttered  uncon- 
sciously and  in  broken  speech. 


THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS         19 

'  I  see  this  multitude  is  quite  unable  to 
appreciate  any  glory  that  is  not  a  visible 
glory.  They  have  been  in  my  presence  day 
by  day ;  they  have  seen  my  works  hour  by 
hour ;  and  yet  they  are  incapable  of  under- 
standing a  mental  influence.  Why  is  this? 
May  it  not  be  that  their  very  privilege  has 
been  against  them  ?  Perhaps  they  have  seen 
too  much  physical  power,  too  much  visible 
glory.  My  presence,  which  seemed  so  essential 
to  the  founding  of  a  kingdom,  may  be  itself 
the  deterring  circumstance.  Would  not  a 
temporary  eclipse  of  that  presence  be  an 
advantage?  If  my  life  were  for  a  while  to 
become  to  them  a  memory,  would  they  not 
for  the  first  time  begin  to  realise  the  power 
of  the  invisible?  If  they  were  compelled  to 
guide  their  steps  by  a  mere  remembrance, 
if  they  were  forced  to  imagine  what  I  would 
have  said,  if  they  were  obliged  to  regulate 
their  actions  by  an  appeal  to  the  thought  of 
me,  if  the  ideal  of  my  example  were  to  take 
the  place  of  my  audible  command  —  would 
they  not  begin  to  learn  that  there  is  such  a 


20        THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS 

power  as  the  reign  of  the  spirit,  would  they 
not  at  last  be  ripened  for  the  kingdom  of 
God?' 

Such  I  conceive  to  be  the  thought  of  Jesus 
underlying  this  disjointed  utterance.  It  is 
disjointed  because  it  is  only  half  spoken ;  the 
rest  is  uttered  in  the  heart.  You  will  observe, 
it  is  exactly  the  sentiment  which  He  thus 
expressed  at  a  later  day :  *  I  tell  you  the 
truth:  it  is  expedient  for  you  that  I  go  away.* 
These  words  must  have  had  an  origin  in 
Christ's  experience.  When  you  hear  a  man 
uttering  a  rounded  sentiment,  you  know  quite 
well  that  the  sentiment  has  originated  in  his 
heart  beforehand.  So  with  that  memorable 
saying  of  Jesus.  It  must  have  been  long  in 
His  mind  ere  He  could  speak  it  out  with  such 
emphasis.  When  we  hear  it  on  that  later 
occasion  it  is  full-grown.  It  must  have  been 
at  one  time  a  new-born  experience ;  it  must 
have  begun  rather  by  lisping  than  by  speech, 
Where  shall  we  look  for  its  lisping  ?  Where 
shall  we  find  the  evidence  of  its  mere  forma- 
tive period?     Surely  here — in  the  synagogue 


THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS        21 

of  Capernaum!  Surely  in  this  broken,  dis- 
jointed utterance,  half  spoken,  half  felt,  in 
which  the  human  soul  of  Jesus  dimly  figured 
a  new  possibility  for  the  kingdom  of  God ! 
If  you  read  truly  the  life  of  Jesus,  you  will 
interpret  His  every  saying  as  a  word  of 
autobiography,  and  you  will  look  to  His 
past  experience  for  the  origin  of  that  word. 
Where  shall  we  find  a  better  origin  than  the 
synagogue  of  Capernaum  for  the  words  which 
at  first  sound  so  strange  and  paradoxical :  '  It 
is  expedient  for  you  that  I  go  away  ' ! 

What,  then,  is  this  revelation  in  the  soul  of 
Jesus?  It  is  something  which  brings  His 
mission  a  day's  march  nearer  home.  I  am 
far  from  thinking  it  was  anything  like  a  full 
disclosure  of  His  mission.  There  was  no 
vision  yet  of  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death.  There  was  simply  a  revelation  that  in 
some  form  or  other  His  departure  would  be 
expedient  for  the  establishment  of  the  king- 
dom. In  what  form  that  departure  was  to  be 
made  was  as  yet  not  indicated.  I  think  the 
mind  of  Jesus  was  dwelling  more  on  the  fact 


22        THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS 

of  separation  than  on  the  mode  of  separation. 
As  I  have  said,  I  beh'eve  the  steps  of  His 
departure  were  revealed  to  Him  as  they  were 
revealed  to  His  servant,  Paul  —  backward. 
What  Paul  first  saw  was  not  the  crucified 
but  the  ascended  Christ.  Even  so,  if  I  were 
to  hazard  an  opinion,  I  should  say  that  in 
thinking  of  His  departure  the  inner  eye  of 
Jesus  rested  first  on  the  last  movement — the 
Ascension.  This  would  seem  to  be  suggested 
by  the  words  :  *  If  ye  see  the  Son  of  Man  ascend 
where  He  was  before.'  The  last  scene  in  the 
picture-gallery  gets  the  precedence  of  all  the 
others.  As  the  details  of  His  mission  passed 
before  the  eye  of  Jesus  they  came  in  reversed 
order.  A  curtain  still  hung  over  the  visible 
cross.  A  veil  yet  rested  on  the  sepulchre.  A 
mist  continued  to  cover  the  prevision  of  an 
Easter  morning.  But  the  latest  stage  of  all 
was  already  glowing  in  the  sun.  The  Son  of 
Man  had  realised  that  He  must  depart.  He 
had  come  to  feel  that  His  union  with  humanity 
must  be  preceded  by  a  break.  The  heavens 
must  receive  Him  ere  the  time  of  restitution 


THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS        23 

could  be  proclaimed.  A  cloud  must  recall 
Him  from  earthly  sight  before  the  great  long- 
ing for  Him  could  be  felt  by  men.  Through 
all  the  darkness  one  thing  had  become  clear 
— it  was  expedient  for  His  followers  that  He 
should  go  away. 

You  will  observe  that  in  these  chapters  I  am 
trying  to  trace  the  mental  sequence  of  the 
Gospel  narrative.  I  am  seeking  to  indicate 
why  each  event  in  the  life  of  Jesus  occupies 
the  place  it  does,  and  not  another.  We  are 
now  coming  to  a  typical  instance  of  the 
method  I  am  pursuing.  Immediately  after 
the  sermon  at  Capernaum  we  find  an  alto- 
gether unique  event  in  the  life  of  Jesus.  We 
find  Him  in  a  position  never  occupied  by  Him 
before  and  never  assumed  by  Him  again. 
For  the  first  and  last  time  He  stands  in  the 
midst  of  a  heathen  community  and  preaches 
a  gospel  to  the  Gentiles  alone.  He  passes 
into  the  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon — the  land 
of  Phcenicia.  That  is  the  unique  event  of  His 
life.  It  is  His  first  voluntary  passage  beyond 
the    limits   of    Palestine.       I    say   '  His    first 


24        THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS 

voluntary  passage.'  There  had  been  an  in- 
voluntary  passage  ;  He  had  been  carried,  as 
an  infant,  into  the  land  of  Egypt.  But  this 
second  transition  was  made  by  His  own  will. 
He  stands  for  a  moment  in  the  place  of  His 
future  apostle — Paul.  It  is  only  for  a  moment. 
It  is  a  sudden  gleam  of  sunshine,  a  sudden 
breath  of  fresh  air,  vanishing  as  quickly  as  it 
came  ;  yet  for  a  moment  it  is  there  ;  and  that 
moment  is  historically  indelible.  Phoenicia 
had  received  a  greater  privilege  than  Egypt. 
Egypt  had  held  in  her  bosom  the  unconscious 
babe ;  Phoenicia  grasped  the  full-grown  hand 
of  Jesus. 

That  is  the  event;  what  is  its  meaning? 
Has  it  any  bearing  upon  the  present  circum- 
stances of  Jesus?  Had  the  journey  to  Phoe- 
nicia any  connection  with  the  state  of  mind 
in  which  we  now  find  Him?  We  shall  best 
answer  the  question  by  simply  inquiring,  'Why 
did  He  go?'  The  motive  does  not  lie  on  the 
surface.  The  incident  is  introduced  abruptly, 
and  the  imagination  is  invited  to  try  its  wings 
in  flight.     Let  us  obey  that  invitation. 


THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS        25 

It  is  quite  certain  that  Jesus  did  not  go 
to  PhcEnicia  for  the  purpose  of  preaching  the 
gospel.  The  earliest  narrative  is  conclusive  on 
this  point.  We  gather  from  St.  Mark  vii,  24, 
that  He  wished  His  presence  in  Phoenicia 
to  be  unknown.  Nor  is  there  any  evidence 
for  the  common  view  that  the  journey  to 
Phoenicia  was  a  flight.  I  do  not  doubt  that 
Jesus  would  have  deemed  it  His  duty  to 
preserve  His  life  for  the  sake  of  His  work. 
It  is  not  the  duty  that  I  fail  to  see ;  it  is  the 
danger.  The  cloud  over  Jesus  was  as  yet  an 
inward  cloud.  He  was  suffering  from  the 
frustration  of  his  ideal^  not  from  any  actual 
persecution ;  I  can  see  no  cause  for  flight. 
But  instead  of  looking  outside,  let  us  try 
reverently  to  enter  into  the  thought  of  Jesus. 
Let  us  try  to  photograph  the  inner  moment 
— the  experience  through  which  the  heart  of 
the  Master  was  passing.  He  had  come  to  a 
definite  conclusion.  He  had  arrived  at  the 
conviction  that  His  temporary  absence  from 
the  world  was  a  desirable  thing  ;  He  felt  it 
expedient   that    He   should   go   away.      If  a 


26        THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS 

thought  like  this  took  possession  of  the  heart 
of  Jesus,  it  is  clear  to  my  mind  that  He  would 
apply  the  principle  to  everything.  He  would 
say  to  Himself:  'If  a  complete  severance 
from  the  scene  can  do  so  much,  might  not  a 
partial  severance  do  a  little?  Must  I  wait 
for  Elijah's  chariot  that  I  may  gain  the 
advantage  of  becoming  invisible?  Is  there 
no  earth-born  cloud  that  could  receive  me 
out  of  the  sight  of  this  people  ?  Yes.  Within 
a  day's  march  of  this  Capernaum  there  is  a 
land  divided  from  it  by  an  ocean  of  thought — 
a  land  of  the  heathen,  a  land  of  the  Gentiles. 
The  gulf  between  earth  and  sky  is  scarcely 
wider  than  the  gulf  between  Galilee  and 
Phoenicia.  The  passage  from  Galilee  to 
Phoenicia  would,  to  my  countrymen,  be  like 
the  passage  from  life  to  death ;  it  would  bury 
me  out  of  their  sight.  I  will  go  there.  I  will 
try  the  effect  of  silence.  I  will  cross  the 
borders  into  another  world.  I  will  let  the 
men  of  Galilee  miss  me.  I  will  throw  them 
back  on  their  memory.  I  will  become  for 
the  first  time  a  picture  in  their  fancy.     I  will 


THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS        27 

let  them  feel  in  some  measure  the  love  of  the 
unseen.'       * 

Such,  I  am  convinced,  was  the  thought  of 
Jesus.  The  plan  was  perfect  in  design.  It 
was  frustrated  by  one  circumstance.  There 
was  one  thing  which  had  not  entered  into 
His  estimate,  and  the  omission  redounds  to 
His  glory — He  had  not  realised  His  own  fame. 
What  failed  was  the  effort  at  concealment ; 
St.  Mark  says  '  He  could  not  be  hid.'  He 
thought  He  would  be  obscure  across  the 
borders ;  He  found  that  His  name  had  pre- 
ceded Him.  He  found  Himself  in  danger  of 
being  solicited  to  lay  the  first  stone  of  His 
kingdom  in  Phoenicia  instead  of  Palestine ! 
He  could  not  do  that\  His  spirit  revolted 
from  it.  It  was  not  a  question  of  whether 
the  Gentile  should  have  bread  with  the  few; 
that  was  never  doubted.  But  the  question 
was  whether  the  Jew  should  be  supplanted ; 
whether  the  bread  should  be  taken  from  the 
children  and  given  to  strangers.  Was  it  now 
that  the  parable  of  the  barren  fig-tree  suggested 
itself?      Was  it  now  that  a   hundred   voices 


28        THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS 

seemed  to  cry,  *  Cut  it  down  ;  why  cumbereth 
it  the  ground?'  I  do  not  know*  But  I  do 
know  it  was  now  He  resolved  to  make  another 
effort  for  its  fruitfulness — to  dig  round  about 
it  and  give  it  one  chance  more.  The  Father's 
time  for  His  departure  had  evidently  not  yet 
come.  He  would  not  anticipate  that  time; 
He  would  work  while  it  was  day.  If  the 
cloud  refused  to  hide  Him,  it  must  be  because 
the  Father  had  still  a  work  for  Him  to  do. 
He  would  obey  the  mandate  of  the  cloud ; 
He  would  reveal  Himself  to  the  world  again. 
In  what  form  this  fresh  resolve  appeared,  the 
following  chapter  will  show. 


'nr^HOU  canst  not  be  hid  by  earthy  O  Son 
-*■  of  Man!  In  vain  wouldst  Thou  bury 
Thyself  in  the  shadows  of  Tyre  and  Sidon! 
Men  will  find  Thee  there — concealed  behind 
the  secular  drapery !  I  often  think  of  the  life 
of  great  cities  as  edipsifig  Thy  presence ;  I 
associate  Thee  more  with  the  desert  than  with 
the   crowd.      Yet   the   city   can   live   without 


THE  SECOND  HOPE  OF  JESUS        29 

Thee  even  less  than  the  desert.  It  is  vain 
for  Tyre  and  Sidon  to  call  themselves  secular 
communities.  Nothing  but  Thy  Spirit  can 
make  a  community.  I  can  live  in  solitude  by 
the  power  of  selfishness,  but  I  cannot  live  in 
brotherhood  by  the  power  of  selfishness.  That 
needs  Thy  power,  Thy  love.  No  bond  can 
unite  men  but  the  bond  of  Thy  Spirit.  It  is 
by  Thee  that  Tyre  joins  her  masses ;  it  is  by 
Thee  that  Sidon  unites  her  families.  They 
know  it  not ;  they  call  their  union  by  other 
names;  but  Thine  is  their  kingdom,  their 
power,  and  their  glory.  Thou  art  the  root  of 
all  fraternities  ;  Thou  art  the  source  of  all 
guilds  ;  Thou  art  the  flower  of  all  brother- 
hoods ;  in  Thee  the  lives  of  men  become  the 
life  of  Man.  Happy  will  Tyre  and  Sidon  be 
if  in  seeking  the  cause  of  their  prosperity 
they  shall  behind  the  drapery  find  Thee  I 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM 

Jesus  has  formed  a  great  resolve ;  a  new  hour 
has  struck  in  His  experience.  I  believe  that 
hoar  to  have  struck  while  He  wandered  along 
the  shores  of  Phoenicia.  It  is  to  this  period  I 
refer  the  beginning  of  this  fresh  mental  attitude. 
It  is  described  in  St.  Luke  ix.  51  :  'When  the 
days  of  His  Assumption  were  being  fulfilled, 
He  set  His  face  steadfastly  to  go  to  Jerusalem.' 
You  will  observe  the  expression  'the  days 
of  His  Assumption^  That  is  not  a  synonym 
for  '  the  days  preparatory  to  His  death!  The 
'  Assumption  '  is  the  '  Ascension.'  The  act  of 
death  is  still  in  the  background.  Jesus  is  still 
thinking  only  of  the  expediency  of  His  depar- 
ture, of  the  power  which  He  will  exert  in 
absence.  What,  then,  is  the  thought  which 
turns  His  face  towards  Jerusalem?  I  have 
10 


THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM       31 

said  that  the  vision  of  death  was  still  in  the 
background.  It  was  not  the  idea  of  Calvary 
that  suggested  the  journey  to  Jerusalem;  it 
was  the  contemplation  of  the  journey  to  Jeru- 
salem that  suggested  the  idea  of  Calvary. 
Calvary,  when  first  it  loomed  in  sight,  was  not 
an  object  of  attraction.  For  a  reason  I  shall 
state  in  the  sequel  of  this  chapter,  it  appeared 
rather  as  an  interference  with  His  sacrifice  than 
as  the  climax  of  His  sacrifice  ;  it  threatened  to 
neutralise  the  surrender  of  that  life  which  He 
was  offering  as  an  expiation  to  the  Father, 
The  vision  of  such  a  barrier  to  His  atoning 
work  could  never  have  been  the  magnet  that 
drew  Him  to  the  capital.  That  magnet,  as 
St.  Luke  says,  was  not  death  but  ascension ; 
it  was  the  prospect  of  exercising  the  power  of 
an  invisible  spirit.  Is  there  any  way  in  which 
a  journey  to  Jerusalem  could  minister  to  such 
a  power? 

I  think  there  was.  For  what  Jesus  says  to 
Himself  is  this:  '  If  I  am  to  impress  men  by 
my  absence,  I  must  first  impress  them  by  my 
presence ;  ere  they  can  remember,  they  must  see. 


32       THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM 

Have  they  yet  seen  me  in  the  full  light — the 
light  of  the  metropolis  ?  What  has  Jerusalem 
seen  of  me  ?  She  has  had  only  a  few  scattered 
glimpses  at  Passover  times.  I  have  poured 
forth  my  soul  in  the  hill-country  of  Galilee ;  I 
have  given  the  burden  of  my  message  to  the 
land  of  my  youth.  But  Jerusalem — the  centre 
and  seat  of  the  nation's  glory — has  had  only 
fragments  of  my  teaching!  This  must  not  be. 
I  must  not  wish  to  be  taken  up  into  heaven 
until  I  have  left  an  impress  on  this  spot  of 
earth.  My  life  would  be  incomplete,  my 
ministry  would  be  incomplete,  if  I  did  not 
go  to  Jerusalem.* 

But  look  deeper.  The  words  imply  more 
than  a  resolve ;  they  indicate  a  struggle.  '  He 
set  His  face  steadfastly^ — the  expression  sug- 
gests resistance.  Something  must  have  been 
opposing  His  resolve.  Where  did  the  opposi- 
tion come  from?  From  within  His  own  soul. 
I  am  coming  to  a  very  important  point. 
Standing  in  the  great  gallery  before  the 
Portrait  of  Jesus,  I  am  confronted  to-day  by 
an  expression  of  peculiar   sadness.     His  eyes 


THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM       33 

are  bent  towards  the  capital ;  a  new  and  a 
wider  sphere  is  opening  before  Him.  And  yet, 
His  countenance  wears  an  aspect  of  inexpres- 
sible pain.  I  stand  with  uncovered  head  and 
ask  '  Why  ? '  With  deep  reverence  I  should  like 
to  inquire  into  the  secret  of  that  sorrow.  I 
gaze  into  the  troubled  Face  to  catch  some  hint 
of  that  which  lines  the  brow  with  care.  Of 
one  thing  I  am  sure  beforehand — it  is  no 
personal  grief.  He  who  said  at  a  later  hour, 
'  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,'  knew  only  the 
trouble  of  the  heart — the  cares  of  love.  I  am 
quite  sure  that,  whatever  this  trouble  may  be, 
love  alone  enters  into  it.  There  is  no  wounded 
pride ;  there  is  no  fleshly  fear ;  there  is  no 
individual  cloud — this  is  a  vicarious  sorrow. 
Let  me  draw  nearer  to  the  Picture  and  try  to 
pierce  the  veil. 

There  is  no  difficulty,  indeed,  in  seeing  what 
was  to  Jesus  the  deterring  element  in  the 
journey  to  Jerusalem.  He  tells  us  Himself — 
it  was  the  prospect  of  death.  The  difficulty 
lies  in  two  questions — first,  where  lay  the  legal 
offence  in  the  teaching  of  Jesus  which  made 

VOL.  II.  C 


34       THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALENl 

Him  liable  to  death  ?  and,  second,  conceding 
His  liability  to  a  capital  charge,  why  was  death 
to  Jesus  so  deterrent  a  thing  ? 

The  former  question  has  been  virtually 
answered  by  me  in  the  first  volume  of  this 
book  and  in  another  connection.  Without 
dwelling  on  the  point,  let  me  briefly  re-state  it. 
The  common  answer  would  be,  '  The  capital 
offence  of  Jesus  was  His  claim  to  be  the  Christ 
or  Messiah.'  I  have  shown  that  in  Jewish  law 
this  was  no  crime.  A  Messianic  claim  was  no 
heresy.  It  might  be  proved  to  be  false,  and 
if  proved  to  be  false,  it  would  need  to  be 
abandoned ;  but  to  make  the  claim  was,  in 
itself,  no  sign  of  impiety,  no  trespass  against 
patriotism.  When  Jesus  said,  'I  am  the  Christ,' 
He  did  not  take  one  step  towards  the  cross  of 
Calvary.  If  he  had  stopped  there,  He  never 
could  have  been  crucified.  The  heresy  began, 
not  where  He  said, '  I  am  the  Christ,'  but  where 
He  asked, '  What  think  ye  of  Christ .-'  whose  son 
is  He? '  The  violation  of  national  law  lay,  not 
in  saying  He  was  the  Messiah,  but  in  claiming 
for  the  Messiah  a  power  which  had  never  been 


THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM       35 

conceded  to  that  office — a  power  which  had 
always  been  ascribed  to  God  alone.  The  for- 
giveness of  sin,  as  I  have  pointed  out,  was  not 
an  act  which  had  ever  been  attributed  to  the 
Messiah ;  it  had  always  been  regarded  as  a 
distinctively  Divine  prerogative.  When  Jesus 
said  in  Capernaum, '  The  Son  of  Man  has  power 
on  earth  to  forgive  sins,'  He  said  something 
which  ran  directly  counter  to  the  Jewish  faith 
— a  faith  which  placed  the  judgment  of  the 
sinner  in  the  hands  of  God  alone.  He  had 
escaped  prosecution  simply  because  He  had 
uttered  the  words  in  Capernaum.  Had  He 
spoken  them  in  Jerusalem — in  the  vicinity  of 
the  priests  and  the  temple — He  would  certainly 
have  had  an  earlier  experience  of  the  visible 
cross.  It  was  to  Jerusalem  He  now  proposed 
to  go — to  go  with  the  same  message  of  pardon. 
Could  He  fail  to  see  the  result !  The  predic- 
tion of  His  death  is  not  one  of  His  miracles; 
it  would  have  been  a  miracle  had  He  not 
foreseen  it.  Had  He  been  simply  a  Jewish 
reformer,  nay,  had  He  been  simply  the  Jewish 
Messiah,  His   prediction    would  have   been   a 


36       THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM 

wonder ;  but  He  was  claiming  for  the  Messiah 
a  Divine  prerogative,  and  therefore  from  His 
country's  point  of  view  He  was  guilty  of 
blasphemy. 

All  this  I  readily  understand.  But  the  real 
difficulty  comes  with  the  second  question. 
Conceding  that  the  journey  to  Jerusalem  on 
such  a  mission  involved  death,  why  should 
the  prospect  of  death  have  been  fraught  with 
such  horror  in  the  soul  of  Jesus  ?^  On  any 
view  of  His  person  you  may  adopt,  it  seems 
a  strange  thing.  Do  you  say  He  had  the 
memory  of  a  life  antecedent  to  His  earthly 
life?  Then  death  should  for  Him  have  had 
no  terrors.  Do  you  say  He  emptied  Himself 
of  that  memory  when  He  came  to  earth? 
Then  there  remained  for  Him  another  refuge 
— His  deep  trust  in  the  Father.  Do  you  re- 
fuse to  look  beyond  the  veil  of  His  humanity? 
Even  then,  how  was  death  for  Him  any  worse 
than    for  you !      There    have    been    men    for 


*  I  am  here  purposely  anticipating  what  I  shall  treat  more 
fully  when  I  come  to  Gethsemane ;  Gethsemane  was  not  the 
sudden  emergence  of  an  unexpected  sorrow. 


THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM        37 

whom  enthusiasm  has  made  death  painless — 
martyrs  at  the  stake,  soldiers  on  the  battle- 
field. Had  Jesus  less  enthusiasm  than  these ! 
Had  He  not  come  to  make  an  expiation  to 
His  Father,  to  offer  His  life  as  a  compensation 
for  the  myriad  lives  uno^ered !  Was  not 
death  in  the  line  of  that  offering !  He  had 
elected  to  surrender  His  will  to  the  Father 
wherever  He  might  lead.  Ought  not  the  spot 
most  distasteful  to  be  the  spot  most  coveted ! 
If  Jesus  is  to  atone  by  a  sacrificial  life  for  the 
self-indulgence  of  a  united  world,  why  should 
not  the  most  sacrificial  hour — the  death  hour 
— be  the  one  which  by  Him  is  most  eagerly 
welcomed  ? 

I  answer :  Because  that  hour  could  only  be 
purchased  by  the  culmination  of  the  world's 
sin.  If  it  was  the  hour  in  which  Jesus  could 
give  the  highest  glory,  it  was  also  the  hour  in 
which  the  world  must  reach  the  deepest  shame. 
When  you  look  at  the  crucifixion  of  Christ 
you  will  need  to  view  it  from  opposite  sides  of 
the  gallery.  Viewed  from  each  side,  its  aspect 
is  very  different.     On  the  one  side  it  ««  the 


38       THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM 

completed  surrender  of  a  spotless  soul ;  on  the 
other  it  is  the  completed  stage  of  human  sin. 
On  the  one  side  it  is  love  abounding ;  on  the 
other  it  is  selfishness  rampant.  On  the  one 
side  it  is  something  to  attract  the  Father 
toward  the  earth  ;  on  the  other  it  is  something 
to  repel  the  Father  from  the  souls  of  men. 

Can  you  wonder  that  in  anticipation  Jesus 
shrank  from  the  ordeal !  We  speak  of  *  the 
offence  of  the  cross.'  There  was  something 
in  the  cross  which  offended  Jesus.  His  ground 
of  offence  was  the  pain  it  would  inflict  on  the 
Father.  Let  me  again  try  reverently  to  para- 
phrase the  thought  of  Jesus.  It  was  somewhat 
like  this :  '  I  am  going  to  Jerusalem  for  the 
sake  of  my  Father's  kingdom.  I  know  that 
my  message  to  Jerusalem  will  involve  death ; 
yet,  for  the  sake  of  the  kingdom,  I  am  willing 
to  go.  I  know  that  this  willingness  must  be 
dear  to  the  Father ;  so  far,  the  cup  I  have  to 
drink  will  be  easy.  Yet  it  will  have  a  bitter 
ingredient.  There  will  be  something  in  it 
which  may  well  mar  the  Father's  joy.  He 
may  be  glad  that  I  am  willing  to  brave  the 


THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM       39 

pestilence ;  but  can  He  be  glad  that  the 
pestilence  is  there !  It  may  rejoice  Him  to 
know  that  a  human  soul  has  carried  His 
message  into  the  deadly  air;  but  will  that 
make  Him  more  reconciled  to  the  deadly  air! 
Will  not  my  coming  catastrophe  interfere  with 
my  work  of  compensation  !  Will  He  be  more 
reconciled  to  the  pestilential  atmosphere  after 
it  has  slain  His  messenger !  He  may  say  to 
me,  "  Thou  art  my  beloved  Son  in  whom  I  am 
well  pleased  ";  but  will  He  not  say  to  the  zvorld, 
"  Depart  from  Me,  ye  that  work  iniquity  " !  I 
should  not  be  satisfied  with  a.  personal  accept- 
ance;  I  want  the  Father  for  my  sake  to  accept 
the  world.  I  could  not  live  without  companion- 
ship in  the  glory  of  the  Father.  I  would  have 
the  world  to  behold  that  glory,  to  share  that 
glory.  I  would  have  all  to  be  one  with  Him 
as  /  am  one  with  Him.  It  would  be  a  pain 
for  me  to  know  that  the  house  of  the  Father 
was  prepared  for  none  but  me.  The  bitterness 
of  this  cup  of  Jerusalem  is  the  sense  that  my 
glory  will  be  reached  on  the  highest  step  of 
the  world's  infamy.' 


40       THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM     ' 

Such  is  my  view  of  the  apparent  contra- 
diction involved  in  the  Crucifixion  narrative. 
I  beh'eve  nothing  will  explain  it  but  the  ad- 
mission that  the  prospect  of  death  exerted 
on  Jesus  two  opposite  influences  —  the  one 
attractive,  the  other  repellent.  On  the  one 
hand,  the  surrender  to  death  was  for  Him  the 
final  step  of  obedience.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  was  a  step  that  never  would  have  been 
possible  unless  the  world  had  made  up  its 
mind  to  crucify  Divine  purity.  I  have  often 
asked  myself  why  it  is  that  Jesus,  seeking  as 
He  did  the  deepest  means  of  expiation,  should, 
in  looking  forward,  have  shrunk  from  death. 
And  the  answer  must  be :  He  shrank  from 
death  precisely  because  it  seemed  to  impede 
His  expiation — because  His  crucifixion  would 
multiply  the  world's  sin.  Calvary  might  be 
on  His  side  an  act  of  devotion ;  it  was  on  the 
world! s  side  an  act  of  unrighteousness.  Might 
not  the  one  counterbalance  the  other  in  the 
sight  of  the  Father?  To  the  Father  the 
devotion  might  be  sweet,  but  the  unrighteous- 
ness must  be  sad.    Jesus  and  the  world  were 


THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM       4J 

both  to  be  engaged  in  the  same  deed ;  but  to 
one  it  was  to  be  a  deed  of  glory,  to  the  other 
a  deed  of  shame.  Who  could  say  that  the  eye 
of  the  Father  would  rest  only  on  the  glory  and 
ignore  the  shame!  Who  could  say  that  the 
manifestation  of  one  human  love  would  out- 
weigh the  manifestation  of  a  united  world's 
selfishness !  None  could  say  it  until  the  Father 
should  say  it.  No  wonder  Jesus  shrank  from 
death.  It  was  from  the  world's  side  what  the 
writer  to  the  Hebrews  calls  *a  contradiction 
against  Himself — a  contradiction  to  His  work 
of  atonement.  The  vision  of  Jerusalem  could 
bring  nothing  but  pain  to  Jesus. 

And  yet,  to  Jerusalem  He  was  resolved  to 
go.  Do  not  think  He  solved  the  problem 
before  He  made  His  resolution.  Do  not 
think  he  waited  to  receive  light  from  His 
Father.  What  He  did  receive  was  a  pointing 
of  the  Father's  hand.  The  Father's  hand 
pointed  through  the  darkness,  and  His  voice 
said,  *  Go.'  There  was  no  clearing  of  the  air. 
There  was  no  light  seen  in  the  valley.  There 
was   no   cessation  of  struggle  in  the  soul  of 


42       THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM 

Jesus.  There  was  simply  the  imperative  call 
of  duty.  His  mission  demanded  that  He 
should  preach  at  Jerusalem ;  His  message 
made  it  likely  that  he  would  die  at  Jerusalem ; 
His  dying  at  Jerusalem  seemed  to  threaten 
the  success  of  His  reconciling  work.  These 
were  the  facts — each  equally  present  to  His 
mind.  The  duty  and  the  darkness  appeared 
to  pull  opposite  ways ;  and  both  drew  by  a 
cord  of  unselfishness.  If  He  sought  the  scene 
of  death  it  was  for  love ;  if  He  recoiled  from 
the  scene  of  death  it  was  also  for  love.  He 
saw  no  solution  of  the  problem  ;  but  He  did 
not  therefore  suspend  His  action.  When  duty 
and  darkness  speak  on  opposite  sides  there  is 
no  question  which  should  be  obeyed.  Jesus 
did  not  hesitate  a  moment.  He  heard  duty 
calling  in  the  night,  and  He  declined  to  wait 
for  the  dawn.  The  call  of  circumstances  was 
to  Him  the  will  of  the  Father ;  and  He  had 
promised  to  follow  that  Will  wherever  it  might 
lead.  He  would  keep  His  face  steadfastly 
towards  the  night  blast;  He  would  go  to 
Jerusalem. 


THE  SHADOWS  OF  JERUSALEM       43 

"T^OR  me,  too,  O  Christ,  there  are  hours  like 
^  Thine.  There  are  hours  when  duty  says 
Go,'  and  when  darkness  seems  to  cry  '  Stay.' 
At  such  times  I  often  pray  that  I  may  have 
light  before  I  go.  I  sit  by  the  warm  fire 
waiting  for  the  dawn ;  I  say,  '  When  morning 
comes,  I  will  obey.'  And  while  I  am  waiting 
the  gate  is  shut,  the  opportunity  gone.  Let 
me  take  my  steps  from  Thee  \  Let  me  be  all 
ear,  no  eye!  Let  me  disregard  the  night;  let 
me  consider  only  the  call !  If  I  hear  the  voice 
of  the  Lord  God  in  the  garden,  let  it  be  enough 
for  me !  Though  I  see  no  flower  of  Paradise, 
though  I  view  no  Tree  of  Life,  though  I  behold 
on  the  way  to  Jerusalem  no  river  of  Thy  plea- 
sures, let  Thy  voice  be  enough  for  me !  Let 
me  arise  without  sight  of  the  flower ;  let  me 
depart  without  vision  of  the  Tree  ;  let  me  take 
my  journey  through  a  dry,  parched  land — if  only 
the  Voice  calls  me !  Let  it  be  enough  for  me 
that  the  Lord  is  my  Shepherd !  Though  I 
start  not  from  pastures  green,  though  I  journey 
not  by  waters  quiet,  though  I  see  the  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death  before  me — I  shall  refuse 
to  turn  back  if  I  hear  the  Shepherd's  call. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE  PROGRESS  TOWARDS  JERUSALEM 

To  the  spectator  in  the  gallery  the  title  I 
have  given  to  this  chapter  might  seem  very 
strange.  I  have  called  it  '  the  Progress  towards 
Jerusalem ' ;  yet,  to  the  eye  of  him  who  looks 
only  on  the  surface,  the  face  of  Jesus  at  this 
time  is  turned  away  from  Jerusalem.  He  has 
decided  to  go — to  brave  the  death  for  the  sake 
of  the  kingdom.  And  yet,  when  He  rises 
to  depart,  He  moves  in  exactly  the  oppo- 
site direction.  Geographically  speaking,  Jesus 
never  went  so  far  away  from  Jerusalem  as 
at  the  date  we  have  fixed  for  His  determina- 
tion \.<:>  go  there.  Instead  of  moving  south,  He 
advances  northward.  He  extends  His  sojourn 
in  Phoenicia.  He  wanders  along  the  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean ;  He  looks  towards  the 
Isles  of  the  Gentiles.     In  His  return  journey 


THE  PROGRESS  TOWARDS  JERUSALEM    45 

He  lingers  in  the  north  parts  of  Gah'lec — the 
heathen  parts  of  Galilee.  He  crosses  the  ridges 
of  Hcnnon.  He  visits  the  most  obscure  and 
neglected  villages.  He  comes  to  Caesarea 
Philippi — the  most  un-Jewish  town  in  Palestine, 
the  borderland  between  the  Israelite  and  the 
heathen.  This  is  a  remarkable  journey — unique 
in  the  life  of  Jesus.  How  shall  we  explain  it 
at  the  stage  where  we  have  placed  it  ?  How 
shall  we  reconcile  it  with  the  fact  that  the 
leading  thought  in  the  mind  of  Jesus  was  a 
resolve  to  go  to  Jerusalem  ? 

I  answer :  The  progress  I  am  tracing  is  not 
a  geographical  progress.  It  is  a  progress  of 
mental  preparation.  Geography  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  Jerusalem  was  for  Jesus  the 
seat  of  death  ;  that  was  its  only  significance. 
To  prepare  for  Jerusalem  was  to  prepare  for 
death.  Every  step  of  mental  reconciliation 
was  a  step  of  progress.  It  mattered  not 
where  the  feet  of  Jesus  should  travel ;  the 
one  question  was,  Where  was  His  mz'nd going? 
We  must  measure  his  progress  to  Jerusalem 
by  no  physical  standard.     Many  a  man  draws 


46  THE  PROGRESS 

mentally  near  his  home  by  the  very  act  of 
going  away  from  it.  The  question  is  not 
where  Jesus  went  in  the  flesh,  but  where  He 
went  in  the  spirit.  We  want  to  know  whether 
the  thought  of  approaching  death  can  be  traced 
in  the  selection  of  those  scenes  through  which 
He  passed.  It  is  not  alone  when  walking  in 
the  graveyard  that  a  man  can  show  his  con- 
sciousness of  the  valley  of  the  shadow.  Jesus 
was  not  on  the  physical  road  to  Jerusalem  ; 
but  was  He  on  the  mental  road?  Had  He 
taken  up  His  cross  into  His  heart!  Had  His 
mind  become  daily  permeated  with  the  thought 
of  that  great  catastrophe  which  lay  before 
Him  ?  Then  we  shall  expect  to  find,  and  we 
shall  find,  the  evidence  of  that  permeation — 
not  in  approximating  milestones,  not  in  ever 
increasing  nearness  to  the  cemetery,  but  in 
thoughts  which  regulate  His  choice  of  localities 
far  away. 

Is  there,  then,  any  connection  between 
Christ's  preparation  of  the  soul  for  death 
and  His  contemporaneous  intercourse  with 
places  wholly  or  partially  heathen?      I  think 


TOWARDS  JERUSALEM  47 

there  is.  Why  did  He  penetrate  so  far  into 
Phcenicia?  Why  did  He  walk  by  the  waves 
of  the  Mediterranean  and  look  towards  the 
Isles  of  the  Gentiles?  Because  He  had  said 
to  Himself,  '  1  want  to  think,  not  of  men,  but 
of  Man — Man  universal,  Man  cosmopolitan.' 
And  why  had  He  said  this?  Because  He  had 
been  confronted  by  the  most  universal,  the 
most  cosmopolitan  thing  in  the  world — death. 
For  the  first  time  in  life  He  stands  face  to 
face  with  the  prospect  of  a  perfect  union  with 
humanity.  As  we  have  stood  in  the  great 
gallery  we  have  seen  Him  step  by  step  descend 
Paul's  ladder  of  humiliations.  We  have  seen 
Him  '  empty'  His  own  will  into  the  will  of  the 
Father;  but  this  was  not  a  union  with  man. 
We  have  seen  Him  take  '  a  servant's  form ' ; 
but  the  form  need  not  be  the  reality.  We 
have  seen  Him  take  the  human  *  likeness ' ; 
but  a  likeness  may  exist  without  identity. 
Then  we  saw  Him  come  lower  still ;  He  was 
'  found  in  fashion  as  a  man ' — deserted  by  the 
crowd  as  unworthy  of  reverence ;  but  that  was 
not  a  step  of  union.     We  beheld  Him  descend 


48  THE  PROGRESS 

still  further — 'He  humbled  Himself*;  He 
abandoned  His  first  ideal,  gave  up  the  dream 
of  His  youth.  But  even  here  the  strong 
Messianic  nature  might  seem  to  distance  His 
experience  from  mine.  The  same  calamity 
need  not  make  the  same  cross ;  Jesus  might 
lose  His  life's  dream  like  me,  but,  unlike  me, 
Jesus  had  the  support  of  a  Divine  will.  In 
none  of  these  steps  do  we  find  the  perfect 
union  with  man  as  man.  But  we  have  seen 
another  and  a  deeper  step  uncovered.  It  is 
not  yet  taken  ;  but  it  looms  in  to-morrow's 
sky.  If  we  would  understand  the  walk  by 
the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  if  we 
would  understand  the  lingering  amid  the 
heathen  parts  of  Galilee,  we  must  ponder  the 
significance  for  Jesus  of  this  one  remaining 
step — the  obedience  unto  death. 

In  the  first  volume  of  this  book  I  said,  by 
anticipation,  that  in  the  contemplation  of  death 
Jesus  for  the  first  time  entered  into  union  with 
universal  Man.  He  went  below  the  differences 
of  Jew  and  Gentile,  Greek  and  Barbarian.  He 
touched  the  common  ground  for  the  meeting 


TOWARDS  JERUSALEM  49 

of  all  humanity.  That  this  was  His  own  view 
is  certain  ;  we  have  His  testimony  for  it.  He 
declares  that  by  His  death  He  will  'draw 
all  men '  unto  Him.  The  words  are  strongly 
antithetical.  They  suggest  a  contrast  between 
His  influence  in  life  and  His  influence  in  death. 
In  life,  spite  of  the  crowds  that  thronged  Him, 
He  was  still  but  the  Son  of  David.  The 
swaddling  bands  of  Bethlehem  were  yet  around 
Him ;  He  was  a  Jew  with  a  message  to  the 
Jew.  But  death  was  to  be  for  Him  a  bursting 
of  the  bands  of  Bethlehem.  The  troubles  of 
His  life  might  be  Judaic  troubles.  They  might 
be  connected,  they  were  more  or  less  con- 
nected, with  solicitude  for  His  native  land. 
But  when  He  bowed  His  soul  to  the  thought 
of  death,  His  interest  ceased  to  be  national ; 
it  became  cosmopolitan.  He  experienced  a 
sympathy  which  made  the  world  His  country. 
Death  is  not  the  only  thing  universal  to  man, 
but  it  is  that  universal  thing  which  most  unites 
the  world.  Pain  does  not  always  unite ;  every 
man  thinks  his  own  kind  of  pain  the  worst. 
Joy  does  not  always  unite ;  the  possession 
VOL.  II.  D 


50  THE  PROGRESS 

which  gladdens  you  may  bring  with  it  no  joy 
to  7ne.  But  death  does  unite.  Death  is  not 
only  a  universal  thing ;  it  is  a  combining  thing. 
The  sense  of  its  mystery  makes  a  fellowship. 
When  Jesus  felt  He  was  approaching  the  city 
of  the  dead,  He  felt  He  was  drawing  nearer 
to  universal  Man  than  He  had  ever  been  per- 
mitted to  do  in  the  cities  of  Galilee. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  mental  eye  of 
Jesus  at  this  time  was  riveted  on  the  Isles 
of  the  Gentiles !  His  progress  to  Jerusalem 
meant  really  a  progress  towards  universal 
Man,  for  it  was  a  progress  towards  the  great 
uniter,  Death.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  at  such 
a  time  His  thoughts  should  have  transcended 
nationality,  that  the  branches  of  the  tree 
should  have  run  over  the  wall !  And  now 
it  is,  I  take  it,  that  there  rises  in  the  breast 
of  Jesus  that  great  idea  which,  at  Caesarea 
Philippi,  breaks  forth  into  speech.  You  will 
observe,  He  is  not  yet  reconciled  to  death ;  it 
is  only  a  surrender  of  will.  But  there  comes 
to  Him  a  thought  which,  without  being  a 
reconciliation,  serves  as  a   counterpoise.     He 


TOWARDS  JERUSALEM  51 

will  rise  again.  I  have  said  that  His  human 
path  was  revealed  to  Him  backwards.  First 
He  saw  the  completed  kingdom ;  then  He 
saw  the  Ascension — the  expediency  of  His 
departure.  Now  there  gleams  forth  the  pro- 
spect of  His  return  from  death.  Death  itself 
is  not  yet  revealed,  not  the  glory  of  it.  But 
there  comes  to  Him  a  conviction  that  He 
will  vanquish  death,  will  rise  above  it,  will 
come  forth  from  its  folds  into  newness  of  life. 
How  does  this  bear  upon  the  point  we  are  now 
considering?  If  the  thought  of  death  brought 
Him  nearer  to  the  Gentiles,  what  would  the 
thought  of  resurrection  do  ? 

I  answer,  it  would  bring  Him  nearer  still. 
Death,  after  all,  could  only  burst  the  bands  of 
the  old  country ;  the  rising  from  death  could 
give  Him  a  new  country,  a  country  accessible 
to  all  the  world.  To  rise  from  the  city  of  the 
dead  was  to  make  a  new  Bethlehem,  a  second 
Christmas  Day.  Galilee  could  no  longer  say, 
'  He  is  mine ' ;  Jerusalem  could  no  longer  say, 
'  He  is  mine ' ;  no  single  nation  could  here- 
after say,  *  He  is  mine,'     He  would  have  risen 


52  THE  PROGRESS 

above  principalities  and  powers,  above  every 
name  that  is  named  by  way  of  national 
distinction.  Men  would  no  longer  say,  *  He 
was  born  in  Bethlehem  ';  they  would  say,  *  He 
was  born  on  Easter  Morning,  from  the  common 
soil  of  humanity  ;  He  belongs  to  the  city  of  the 
dead  ;  we  can  all  claim  Him.'  Men  would  no 
longer  say,  '  He  is  the  Son  of  David  ' ;  they 
would  say,  *  He  is  the  second  Adam,  the  Son 
of  God.'  Men  would  no  longer  say,  '  He  is 
of  the  tribe  of  Judah';  they  would  say,  'To 
Him  all  the  tribes  of  earth  go  up ;  all  families 
of  the  earth  can  boast  affinity  with  His 
Name.' 

Is  this  view  fanciful?  It  is,  at  all  events, 
not  my  fancifulness.  The  view  was  ventilated 
nineteen  centuries  ago  by  the  earliest  spectator 
in  the  gallery — the  man  Paul.  He  stands  in 
front  of  the  Portrait ;  he  gazes  intently  on  the 
Face;  then  he  takes  out  his  notebook  and 
writes  down,  'Jesus  is  the  Son  of  David 
according  to  the  flesh ;  but  He  is  powerfully 
declared  to  be  the  Son  of  God  by  the  resur- 
rection from  the  dead.'     What  does  he  mean  ? 


TOWARDS  JERUSALEM  53 

That  Christ  had  two  birthdays — the  one  local, 
the  other  universal — the  one  in  the  city  of 
Bethlehem,  the  other  in  the  city  of  the  dead 
— the  one  from  the  line  of  David,  the  other 
from  the  bosom  of  Mother  Earth — the  one 
ushering  the  life  into  a  narrow  environment, 
the  other  setting  His  feet  in  a  large  room. 

I  wish  now  to  direct  your  attention  to  a  cir- 
cumstance which,  before  I  studied  these  things, 
seemed  to  me  very  strange.  I  have  spoken  of 
the  seemingly  incongruous  Gentile  localities 
through  which  Jesus  passed  on  His  road  to 
Calvary ;  I  have  shown  that  their  incongruity- 
is  not  real.  I  must  now  point  to  something 
apparently  more  incongruous  than  any  Gentil- 
ism,  because  it  lies  in  the  mind  of  Jesus  Him- 
self.    Let  me  briefly  narrate  the  circumstances. 

Jesus  has  come  to  Ca^sarea  Philippi.  He 
is  accompanied  only  by  the  original  little  band 
— the  primitive  league  of  pity.  They  have 
clung  to  Him  through  good  report  and  through 
evil.  From  them  He  can  have  no  secrets; 
He  tells  them  of  the  impending  catastrophe. 
They  receive  the  news  as  a  son  would  receive 


54  THE  PROGRESS 

the  tidings  of  a  father's  disgrace.  They  are 
indignant,  remonstrant ;  they  refuse  to  let 
Him  travel  towards  the  city  of  death.  It  is 
not  the  pain  of  wounded  love  they  feel — 
Jesus  has  told  them  He  will  rise  again.  It 
is  the  pain  of  wounded  pride — the  indignation 
that  their  Messiah  should  stoop  to  conquer. 
Jesus  does  not  receive  their  remonstrance  as 
a  tribute  of  affection.  He  turns  to  their  ring- 
leader and  says — not  to  him,  but  to  the  enemy 
He  sees  prompting  him — '  Get  thee  behind 
me,  Satan ! '  To  the  eye  of  Jesus  Peter  is 
only  an  agent ;  the  real  actor  in  the  scene 
is  His  old  tempter  in  the  desert,  who  wished 
Him  at  the  beginning  to  exchange  the  cross 
for  the  crown. 

Amongst  ordinary  men  nothing  helps  a 
cause  like  opposition.  Jesus  required  no  such 
stimulus.  Yet  the  spectacle  of  worldly  pride 
here  exhibited  was  well  fitted  to  fan  the  flame. 
It  did  fan  the  flame.  He  breaks  forth  into 
strong  enthusiasm,  not  about  His  death,  but 
about  His  rising.  '  I  tell  you,'  He  cries,  '  that 
my  empire  will   not  be  retarded   by  this  in- 


TOWARDS  JERUSALEM  55 

evi'table  cross.  There  are  some  standing  here 
who  will  not  taste  of  death  till  they  see  that 
empire.  There  are  some  here  who  will  live 
to  see  the  day  when  the  faith  in  me  and  the 
love  of  me  shall  have  become  a  vital  force  in 
the  world — a  force  which  must  be  counted  on, 
reckoned  with — a  force  which  will  demand  the 
attention  even  of  Roman  power.'  ^ 

Now,  should  we  not  expect  that  with  such 
enthusiasm  in  His  heart  Jesus  would  have 
hurried  to  the  crucial  spot?  Should  we  not 
think  that  His  immediate  impulse  would  be 
to  direct  His  outward  steps  toward  the  city 
of  Jerusalem?  Was  it  so?  On  the  contrary, 
He  waits,  passive.  It  is  the  most  protracted 
passive  attitude  of  His  recorded  life.  The 
historian  has  nothing  to  tell.  Eight  days 
Jesus  lingers  at  Caesarea  Philippi  —  eight 
days  of  seeming  inaction,  of  apparent  waste. 
Jerusalem  is  waiting  for  Him,  Gethsemane  is 
waiting  for  Him,  Calvary  is  waiting  for  Him ; 
still    He   lingers.      Then   the   eight   days   are 

^  You  will  observe,  however,  that  this  did    not  solve  the 
question  of  accepted  expiation. 


S6  THE  PROGRESS 

ended ;  the  new  week  has  opened.  Surely 
this  will  be  the  Passion  Week !  Surely  now 
He  will  arise  and  take  His  journey  !  He  does  ; 
but  whither  ?  To  Jerusalem  ?  No,  to  Mount 
Hermon.  All  the  week  He  has  been  medi- 
tating this  journey,  not  the  Jerusalem  journey. 
From  the  league  of  pity  He  selects  but  three — 
Peter,  James,  John  ;  and  with  these  He  ascends 
the  mountain.  Why?  Is  He  flying  from 
death  after  all?  Has  He  listened  to  the 
advice  of  the  disciple  who  said,  '  Be  it  far  from 
Thee,  Lord'?  Is  He  not  preparing  for  the 
valley !  why  scale  the  height  ?  Is  He  not 
training  for  a  burden  of  heaviness !  why  climb 
where  the  air  is  light?  Is  He  not  making 
ready  for  the  meeting  with  universal  Man ! 
why  ascend  into  the  mountain  solitude?  That 
is  the  question  which  in  the  following  chapter 
I  propose  to  answer. 


TV  /[■  EANTIME,  Son  of  Man,  I  thank  Thee 
-'-^-*-  for  the  revelation  of  delay.  I  thank 
Thee  for  the  revelation  that  the  delay  of  a  hope 


TOWARDS  JERUSALEM  57 

is  no  proof  that  it  is  not  dear  to  Thee.  Often  I 
cry  for  Thy  presence  at  Jerusalem,  and  instead  of 
coming  Thou  ascendest  the  slopes  of  Hermon. 
I  say  at  these  times,  'What  is  the  profit  of 
my  prayers?  surely  the  former  days  were 
better  than  these ! '  Help  me  in  such  moments 
to  stand  in  the  great  gallery !  Help  me  to 
feel  that  I  am  only  repeating  the  experience 
of  former  days — of  Gospel  days !  Help  me 
to  see  how  beautiful  is  the  thought  that  the 
delay  comes  from  Thee — not  from  accident, 
not  from  chance,  not  from  outward  opposition  ! 
If  I  know  it  comes  from  Thee,  I  feel  as  if  I 
need  ask  no  more.  Thy  retardation  must 
itself  be  a  wing.  I  have  heard  the  prophet 
say,  '  How  beautiful  on  the  mountains  are  the 
feet  of  him  that  bringeth  good  tidings  ! '  But 
Thy  feet  would  be  beautiful  to  me  even  though 
they  were  standing  still.  I  should  feel  the  still- 
ness to  be  a  part  of  the  message — a  waiting 
for  the  ripeness  of  the  message.  Only  tell 
me  that  the  stillness  comes  from  Thee!  The 
rolling  of  Thy  chariot-wheels  is  glorious  ;  but 
the   pausing    of   Thy    chariot- wheels    is   also 


58  THE  PROGRESS  TOWARDS  JERUSALEM 

glorious.  All  Thy  pauses  are  musical  pauses ; 
they  are  part  of  the  symphony.  I  can  say 
of  Thee  in  the  ascent  of  Hermon,  '  How- 
beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of 
Him  that  suspendeth  good  tidings  I ' 


CHAPTER  V. 

ON   THE   MOUNT 

At  the  close  of  the  last  meditation  in  the 
gallery  I  was  asking  myself  a  question.  It 
was  an  artistic  question — a  study  in  the  pro- 
portion of  colour.  I  was  asking  why  Jesus, 
at  the  very  moment  when  He  was  preparing 
His  eye  for  the  grey,  should  have  bent  His 
face  toward  the  gold,  I  was  inquiring  why, 
at  the  very  time  of  His  highest  enthusiasm 
for  a  cause  which  involved  suffering,  He  should 
have  sought  on  the  heights  of  Hermon  to 
experience  an  opposite  feeling. 

And  the  answer  I  give  is  this :  It  is  because 
the  true  preparation  for  suffering  is  not  prO' 
phetic  enthusiasm  but  present  comfort.  Pro- 
phetic enthusiasm  may  be  conquered  by 
present  calamity — swept  down  by  the  torrent 
of  the  hour.     Nothing  can  bear  suffering  but 

60 


6o  ON  THE  MOUNT 

an  actual  joy ;  nothing  can  support  sorrow 
but  a  present  comfort.  The  only  preparation 
for  tears  is  a  ripple  of  gladness  realised,  not 
merely  foreseen.  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  Jesus  went  up  to  the  mount  in 
order  to  make  ready  for  the  valley.  There 
is  a  remarkable  statement  by  the  writer  to 
the  Hebrews, '  We  see  Jesus  crowned  with  glory 
and  honour  for  the  suffering  of  death.'  I 
should  have  expected  him  to  say,  'We  see 
Jesus  suffering  death  to  be  crowned  with 
glory  and  honour.'  But  the  men  who  had 
a  front  view  of  the  gallery  saw  differently. 
They  saw  that  in  a  deep  sense  the  crown 
must  ever  precede  the  cross.  They  saw  that 
the  secret  of  successful  endurance  is  not  the 
dogged  supporting  of  pain,  not  the  sense  of 
martyrdom,  not  even  the  devotion  to  a  cause, 
but  that  it  is  the  sight  either  of  a  rising,  or 
of  a  lingering,  brightness.  All  acquiescence 
in  sorrow,  all  resignation  in  sorrow,  nay,  all 
fortitude  in  sorrow,  rests  on  something  opposed 
to  the  sorrow.  A  shipwrecked  mariner  may 
be    kept    afloat    by    the    very    waters    which 


ON  THE  MOUNT  6i 

threaten  to  drown  him ;  but  a  heart  over- 
whelmed by  the  waters  of  affliction  is  not  kept 
afloat  by  these.  As  a  psalmist  of  Israel  says, 
it  must  have  a  rock  rising  above  the  waters. 

I  shall  have  more  than  one  occasion  to 
refer  to  this  principle  in  my  remaining  studies 
of  the  great  gallery ;  it  runs  consistently  and 
persistently  through  the  later  life  of  Jesus. 
Here  on  Mount  Hermon  we  have  perhaps  its 
earliest  illustration.  Jesus  has  gone  up  to 
the  Mount  to  drink  of  His  favourite  spring — 
communion  with  the  Father.  He  has  gone 
up  to  get  a  draught  of  the  sparkling  fountain 
ere  He  goes  down  to  endure  the  heat  in  the 
valley.  He  feels  that  His  sacrifice  must  be 
preceded  by  a  mental  stimulus,  a  bracing  of 
the  heart.  He  feels  that  He  wants  a  crown 
before  the  cross,  a  glory  before  the  gloom. 
Like  an  ancient  poet  of  His  land  He  desires 
to  sing,  *  I  will  not  fear  though  the  earth  be 
removed ' ;  but  like  that  ancient  poet,  He 
would  first  walk  up  the  banks  of  that  beautiful 
river,  '  the  streams  whereof  make  glad  the  city 
of  God.' 


62  ON  THE  MOUNT 

Jesus,  then,  stands  right  below  the  vaulted 
sky  and  communes  face  to  face  with  the 
Father.  He  has  withdrawn  Himself  a  stonecast 
even  from  the  three  favoured  disciples  ;  He  has 
yielded  His  soul  to  prayer.  And  as  He  stands 
there,  as  we  stand  there,  we  have  a  strange 
spectacle — a  radiance  all  from  within.  There 
is  no  increase  of  light  in  the  gallery.  There 
is  no  added  sunbeam  pouring  through  the 
panes.  There  is  nothing  from  without  to 
augment  the  attraction  of  the  Portrait.  Yet 
its  aspect  to-day  is  different  from  that  of 
yesterday ;  there  is  a  diminution  of  care  on  the 
brow.  We  are  left  in  no  doubt  that  the  cause 
is  inward — *  As  He  prayed^  the  fashion  of  His 
countenance  was  altered,'  Here,  as  ever,  His 
glory  is  from  within.  Nature  did  nothing  for 
Him,  ancestry  did  nothing  for  Him,  miracle  did 
nothing  for  Him,  the  pressing  of  the  crowd  did 
nothing  for  Him  ;  the  power  that  transfigured 
the  world  was  the  beauty  of  His  own  soul. 

I  would  not  have  you  think  that  this  was  to 
Jesus  a  moment  of  cloudless  joy.  Remember, 
it   was   the   cloud    that  took  Him   up  to   the 


ON  THE  MOUNT  63 

Mount.  He  went  because  He  felt  heavy  in 
spirit.  Moreover,  the  sombreness  of  His 
spirit  coloured  the  scene.  By  whatever  name 
you  may  call  this  episode — dream,  vision, 
trance,  history — one  thing  at  least  is  clear — 
Jesus  carried  all  through  it  the  thought  of  His 
earthly  burden.  Jerusalem  was  His  earthly 
burden — the  dark  spot  in  His  future,  the  dark 
spot  in  the  future  of  His  three  companions. 
They  had  all  carried  up  Jerusalem  in  their 
hearts ;  no  wonder  it  swam  before  their  eyes ! 
Men  speak  of  the  New  Jerusalem  coming 
down  from  heaven  ;  here  was  the  Old  Jerusalem 
coming  up  from  earth !  Neither  Jesus  nor 
His  disciples  had  left  their  weight  behind. 
They  all  had  the  same  dream  because  they  all 
had  the  same  waking  consciousness — the  thing 
to  be  accomplished  at  Jerusalem. 

That  is  the  gloom  of  the  picture ;  what  is 
its  glory?  What  is  that  which  transfigures 
the  face  of  Jesus?  Why  is  Jerusalem's  shadow, 
itself  eclipsed  for  a  time  in  light  ?  Is  it  that 
Jesus  has  at  last  been  reconciled  to  that  feature 
of  death  which  repelled  Him  ?     If  you  say  so, 


64  ON  THE  MOUNT 

you  make  the  future  agony  of  the  Garden 
simply  meaningless.  I  cannot  too  strongly 
reiterate  my  opinion  that  the  revelation  of 
Christ's  mission  to  His  own  soul  was  made 
to  Him  backwards.  I  have  tried  to  trace  the 
steps  of  that  revelation.  Jesus  was  now  being 
led  towards  the  final  step — death.  He  was 
ready  to  take  it  with  resignation,  but  not  yet 
with  equanimity.  I  do  not  think  He  took  it 
with  equanimity  till  the  close  of  the  Garden 
scene.  Meantime  He  must  progress  towards 
it.  How  is  He  to  progress  towards  it?  By 
keeping  it  in  view  ?  No,  by  keeping  other 
things  in  view.  It  is  not  by  the  shadow  of 
a  calamity  that  I  am  led  to  approach  the 
calamity;  it  is  by  light  outside  of  it.  If  you 
want  to  understand  the  comfort  of  the  Trans- 
figuration, you  must  put  yourself  in  the  place 
of  Jesus  where  He  then  stood  ;  you  must  stand 
on  the  Mount  with  Him.  If  you  do  so,  I 
think  you  will  come  to  a  definite  conclusion — 
a  conclusion  which  will  clear  the  present, 
without  obscuring  the  future,  narrative.  I  am 
looking  at  the  picture  entirely  from  an  artistic 


ON  THE  MOUNT  65 

standpoint ;  I  am  considering  merely  why  it 
was  painted  here  and  not  elsewhere.  Yet  in 
this  limited  inquiry  lies  the  root  of  the  whole 
revelation ;  and  I  shall  not  deem  it  an  alto- 
gether thankless  task  to  determine  the  artistic 
position  of  this  memorable  scene, 

I  hold,  then,  that  the  aim  of  the  Trans- 
figuration scene  was  to  eclipse  for  Jesus  the 
darkness  of  death  by  throwing  in  front  of  it 
a  light  which  was  really  behind  it.  That  light 
was  the  hope  of  resurrection.  If  you  study 
the  picture  you  will  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  all  its  tints  and  colourings  are  designed 
to  obscure  the  place  of  the  sepulchre.  And 
first  of  all  I  would  direct  attention  to  the  fact 
that  this  is  essentially  a  picture  of  the  meeting 
of  heaven  and  earth.  It  is  one  of  those  rare 
days  in  which  the  hills  seem  to  touch  the 
sky.  Three  forms  stand  on  each  side  of  the 
heavenly  gate ;  and  as  we  look  closely  there 
is  a  strange  parallel  between  them.  Within 
the  gate,  on  the  heavenly  side,  there  are  three 
figures — Moses,  Elias,  and  Jesus — the  man  of 
law,  the  prophet  of  fire,  and  the  Voice   of  the 

VOL.  II.  E 


66  ON  THE  MOUNT 

Spirit.  Outside  the  gate,  on  the  earthly  side, 
are  also  three  figures — Peter,  James,  and  John. 
These  latter  three  seem  to  be  made  after  the 
pattern  of  the  three  heavenly  forms.  Peter 
is  the  lawgiver — the  man  whose  authority  is 
to  bind  and  to  loose.  James  is  the  prophet 
of  fire — the  Elijah  of  the  primitive  band.  John, 
in  his  ultimate  development,  is  the  man  of 
the  Spirit — the  man  whose  watchword  is  '  love.' 
Such  a  poising  of  earth  and  heaven  is  not 
accidental.  It  must  have  come  from  an  idea 
in  the  mind  of  the  artist.  And  what  is  that 
idea  ?  It  is  what  the  poet  calls  '  the  bridal  of 
the  earth  and  sky.'  It  is  an  attempt  to  depict 
on  the  canvas  a  meeting-point  for  the  two 
worlds.  Every  difference  is  for  the  time 
ignored.  Change  is  ignored,  decay  is  ignored 
frailty  is  ignored.  The  tread  of  death  is 
drowned  in  the  sound  of  marriage  bells. 

But  look  again.  I  am  deeply  impressed 
with  the  fact  that  every  feature  of  this  picture 
is  selected  with  a  view  to  centre  the  eye  of 
Jesus  on  something  apart  from  death.  From 
the  great  army  of  the  departed,  who  are  those 


ON  THE  MOUNT  67 

chosen  to  be  the  objects  of  His  vision  ?  •  There 
talked  with  Him  two  men  which  were  Moses 
and  EHas,  who  appeared  in  glory.'  Why  select 
these  from  the  host  of  those  who  had  passed 
from  earth  ?  Moses  was  certainly  a  repre- 
sentative man.  But  so  far  as  earthly  work  is 
concerned,  I  doubt  if  Elijah  was.  He  was  in 
no  sense  the  representative  of  the  prophets 
strictly  so  called.  He  had  left  no  writing  ; 
he  had  bequeathed  no  pregnant  saying ;  he 
had  achieved  no  definite  result.  Measured  by 
national  influence  Isaiah  was  a  far  greater 
man,  David  was  a  far  greater  man.  If  the 
artistic  design  had  been  to  get  representative 
men  to  meet  Jesus,  I  should  have  selected 
not  two  but  three.  I  should  have  brought 
Abraham  to  represent  the  age  of  the  patriarchs. 
I  should  have  allowed  Moses,  as  here,  to  re- 
present the  age  of  law.  I  should  have  called 
forth  the  man  who  was  traditionally  deemed 
the  sweet  singer  of  Israel — David,  the  minstrel 
and  the  king — to  represent  at  once  the  line 
of  the  prophets  and  the  line  of  the  sovereigns. 
Why  is  it  not  so  in  the  picture?    The  answer 


68  ON  THE  MOUNT 

is  very  simple.  It  is  because  the  aim  of  the 
artist  here  is  not  to  paint  representative  men. 
That  is  not  here  the  principle  of  selection. 
What  is  that  principle,  then  ?  You  will  find  it 
at  once  if  you  ask  one  question.  Is  there  any 
point  at  which  Moses  and  Elias  resemble  each 
other  ?  In  all  points  but  one  they  are  ««like. 
Moses  is  meek ;  Elias  is  fiery.  Moses  is 
victorious ;  Elias  is  baffled.  Moses  is  a 
moralist ;  Elias  is  a  physical  wonder-worker. 
But  there  is  a  point  in  which  they  are  at  one 
— both  are  separated  from  the  association  with 
death.  These  two  men  in  the  tradition  of 
their  country  were  both  dissociated  from  death. 
Moses  was  without  a  sepulchre ;  Elias  was 
without  a  shroud.  The  one  disappeared  from 
human  sight  on  the  heights  of  Pisgah;  the  other 
appeared  to  human  sight  ascending  in  a  chariot 
of  fire.  The  one  left  the  impression  of  an  eye 
undimmed  and  a  natural  strength  unabated ; 
the  other  became  associated  with  the  glories  of 
the  sunshine. 

Now,  why  are  these  the  men  chosen  for  the 
occasion?    Because  the  occasion  required  these 


ON  THE  MOUNT  69 

distinctively.  The  vision  to  be  presented  to 
Jesus  was  a  vision  of  resurrection,  not  of  death. 
Death,  meantime,  was  to  be  kept  in  the  back- 
ground ;  its  time  was  coming,  but  it  was  not 
yet.  The  eye  of  Jesus  was  to  be  held  aloft. 
When  a  sailor  is  ascending  the  mast,  his 
chance  lies  in  looking  up ;  if  he  looks  down, 
he  will  totter.  Jesus  had  begun  to  climb  His 
cross ;  He  was  preparing  for  Jerusalem.  But 
to  climb  successfully  it  was  essential  that  He 
should  look  up,  not  down.  His  eye  must  be 
filled  with  beauty  ere  He  gazes  on  the 
spectacle  of  gloom.  The  Transfiguration  was 
the  strain  of  music  which  accompanied  and 
sustained  the  march  to  death. 

But  look  once  more.  What  is  the  subject 
of  the  converse  between  these  heavenly  visitors 
and  Jesus?  It  is  expressed  in  our  authorised 
version  by  the  words :  *  They  spake  of  the 
decease  which  He  was  to  accomplish  at 
Jerusalem.'  But  the  word  in  the  original  is 
not  'decease';  it  is  'exodus.'  Why  do  we 
render  it  'decease'?  It  is  because  we  have 
imputed  to  the  men  of  that  time  our  modern 


70  ON  THE  MOUNT 

view  of  immortality — the  idea  that  death  is  an 
exodus,  or  transition,  of  the  soul.  Such  a  view 
was  not  then  entertained ;  it  came  from  Jesus 
Himself,  and  it  came  from  Him  at  a  later  hour. 
No  man  of  the  Transfiguration  hour  would  ever 
have  dreamed  of  calling  death  an  exodus ;  no 
man  would  have  written,  '  They  spake  of  His 
exodus '  when  he  meant  to  say, '  They  spake  of 
His  decease.'  When  they  spake  of  His  exodus 
it  is  clear  they  were  noi  speaking  of  His 
decease.  They  were  passing  dj/  His  decease ; 
they  were  covering  the  sepulchre  from  His 
sight.  The  picture  of  Jerusalem,  as  I  have 
said,  figured  in  the  front  of  heaven ;  but  the 
burden  of  Jerusalem  was  /r^xwjfigured.  Instead 
of  the  sacrifice  there  appeared  the  accomplish- 
ment of  the  sacrifice — its  finishing,  its  result. 
In  the  place  of  death  stood  resurrection — it 
was  this  that  was  called  the  exodus.  And 
why  was  it  called  the  exodus?  Because  it  was 
to  lead  the  children  of  Israel  across  a  second 
Red  Sea.  At  present  their  very  reverence  for 
Jesus  was  a  line  dividing  them  from  other 
lands;  the  Birth  at  Bethlehem  narrowed  them 


ON  THE  MOUNT  71 

But  the  New  Birth  from  the  city  of  the  dead 
would  connect  them  with  every  soil.  It  would 
be  to  the  followers  of  the  true  Messiah  a 
second  national  exodus.  It  would  lead  them 
forth  from  the  captivity  of  proud  isolation  into 
a  union  with  every  country  and  kindred  and 
people  and  tongue.  It  would  break  the  bond- 
age of  a  false  patriotism  by  breaking  the  line 
of  David.  It  would  enable  the  Gentile  and 
the  Jew  to  claim  a  common  origin  for  their 
Lord — an  origin  which  was  dependent  on  no 
land  and  which  was  fostered  by  no  lineage. 
The  exodus  of  which  Moses  and  Elias  spake 
was  a  stage  of  liberal  culture  that  was  to  sup- 
plant them  both. 


/'~\  CHRIST  of  love,  repeat  Thy  experience 
^-^  in  me\  Often  am  I  called  to  a  Jeru- 
salem of  pain.  I  dare  not  ask  in  advance  to 
see  the  meaning  of  that  Jerusalem ;  but  I  dare 
ask  in  advance  to  be  strengthened  for  it.  I 
dare  ask,  I  do  ask,  to  be  taken  up  beforehand 
to  the  mount  with  Thee.      There  is  none   I 


7a  ON  THE  MOUNT 

desire  to  be  with  on  the  mount  but  Thee.  I 
would  have  no  longw  a  tabernacle  for  Moses 
and  Elias  there.  Thou  hast  gone  beyond 
them\  Thou  hast  left  them  far  behind.  To 
whose  experience  shall  I  look  but  to  Thine  on 
my  way  to  Jerusalem  ?  Thy  mount  is  higher 
than  that  of  Moses,  higher  than  that  of  Elias. 
Moses  escaped  the  sepulchre ;  Elias  escaped  the 
shroud  ;  Thou  hast  escaped  neither — Thou  hast 
conquered  both.  There  is  no  preparatory  joy 
like  joy  on  account  of  Thee.  I  shall  seek  no 
lesser  mount  when  I  am  going  to  my  cross.  I 
shall  pass  Moses  by,  Elias  by,  Peter  and  James 
and  John  by.  I  shall  have  nothing  but  a  draught 
of  the  highest  joy  in  preparation  for  my  pain. 
Meet  me  with  the  spray  of  the  fountain!  Meet 
me  with  the  light  of  the  dayspring  !  Meet  me 
with  the  song  of  the  bird !  Meet  me,  above 
all,  with  the  voice  of  Thy  love !  Let  me  hear 
of  the  exodus  before  I  enter  Jerusalem ;  I 
shall  bear  every  cross  when  I  have  stood  on 
the  mount  with  Thee  I 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE  EFFECT  OF  THE   MOUNT  ON 
THE  PLAIN 

Raphael  has  a  magnificent  picture  of  the 
contrast  between  the  scene  on  the  Transfigura- 
tion Mount  and  an  almost  contemporaneous 
scene  which  was  occurring  on  the  plain.  He 
suggests  that  while  the  top  of  the  mountain 
was  bathed  in  light  its  base  was  exhibiting 
a  spectacle  of  darkness — the  spasmodic  con- 
vulsions of  an  insane  epileptic.  And  yet,  the 
poising  of  these  two  scenes  in  contrast  con- 
veys an  impression  which  is  not  the  impression 
I  derive  from  the  great  gallery.  In  looking 
at  the  scene  as  represented  by  Raphael  we 
are  apt  to  emphasise  the  separation  of  the 
two  experiences.  It  is  like  the  feeling  we 
have  in  seeing  a  Parisian  funeral — death  in 
the   midst   of  gaiety.      But   that   is   not  the 

73 


74  THE  EFFECT  OF 

meaning  of  the  two  scenes  as  they  appear  in  my 
gallery.  To  me  they  suggest,  not  the  separa- 
tion between  the  mount  and  the  plain,  but  the 
necessity  of  the  mount  to  the  plain.  Let  me 
briefly  indicate  my  reading  of  this  matter. 

Jesus,  you  will  remember,  only  took  three 
disciples  to  the  mount ;  He  left  the  rest 
behind.  He  probably  left  them  behind  for 
their  own  good — to  let  them  try  themselves 
alone.  They  had  soon  occasion  for  the  test. 
On  the  day  after  the  departure  of  Jesus,  a 
man  followed  by  a  crowd  comes  to  Caesarea 
Philippi,  bringing  to  the  disciples  his  little 
boy,  who  was  afflicted  in  the  manner  indicated. 
The  disciples  were  nothing  loth  to  try  their 
healing  power.  They  had  the  fit  of  empire 
on  them — that  same  spirit  of  imperialism 
which  had  made  them  object  to  the  cross  of 
Jesus.  They  were  evidently  actuated  by  no 
sense  of  humanity,  but  by  the  sense  of  personal 
pride.  Had  it  been  a  purely  physical  case, 
the  motive  would  have  been  of  less  con- 
sequence— although  even  in  physical  nursing, 
a    sympathetic    hand    counts   for  something. 


THE  MOUNT  ON  THE  PLAIN  75 

But  in  a  case  like  this,  involving  mental  irrita- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  patient,  the  want  of 
compassion  was  a  deadly  blank. 

The  disciples  failed.  I  can  imagine  the 
laugh  of  derision  at  their  failure.  It  need 
not  have  been  limited  to  the  Pharisees.  Many 
even  of  the  half-Christianised  multitude  must 
have  had  a  certain  satisfaction  in  seeing  the 
discomfiture  of  men  who,  though  no  better 
than  themselves  in  birth,  had  yet  been  put 
so  far  above  them.  In  the  midst  of  the 
laughter  Jesus  passed  by.  He  was  on  His 
return  from  the  sight  of  the  crown.  The 
Italian  painter  might  suggest  that  the  sight 
of  the  cross  fell  on  Him  incongruously.  I 
believe  the  entire  design  of  the  narrative  is 
to  demonstrate  the  contrary — to  show  that 
the  crown  of  Jesus  was  preparatory  to  His 
cross.  The  key  to  the  whole  scene  lies,  I 
think,  in  the  question  of  the  disciples  after 
they  had  seen  Jesus  succeed  where  they  had 
failed,  'Why  could  not  we  cast  out  the  demon?' 
They  had  obeyed  all  the  prescribed  rules  of 
the  hospital ;  they  had  done  everything  which 


76  THE  EFFECT  OF 

Jesus  had  done ;  yet  Jesus  had  healed  where 
they  had  been  baffled.  They  as'ked,  and  we 
ask  with  them, '  What  was  the  element  in  Him 
which  was  here  wanting  to  them  ? '  And  the 
answer  must  be,  '  That  vision  of  glory  which 
He  had  seen  on  the  Mount.'  Remember  what 
that  vision  was.  It  was  the  foresight  of  a 
second  exodus — the  going  forth  of  a  prejudiced 
little  band  to  meet  in  sympathy  with  universal 
Man.  In  one  word,  it  was  the  vision  of 
humanitarianism. 

Was  that  no  preparation  for  the  scene  on 
the  plain !  In  looking  on  a  spectacle  of 
human  degradation,  can  there  be  anything 
more  stimulating  than  a  previous  vision  of 
human  possibilities  !  Jestis  had  seen  these  new 
possibilities  for  man.  He  had  seen  in  anticipa- 
tion the  exodus  of  narrow  souls.  He  had  seen 
the  emancipation  of  shallow  hearts  from  the 
bondage  of  their  own  limits.  He  had  seen  the 
prospect  of  a  small  life  being  enlarged,  of  a 
poor  nature  being  enriched — of  a  son  of  Israel 
becoming  a  citizen  of  the  world.  Did  not 
such  a  transformation  give  hope  for  all  trans- 


THE  MOUNT  ON  THE  PLAIN         77 

formations !  Was  it  not  greater  than  would 
be  that  of  the  poor  lunatic  before  Him  into 
the  peace  of  a  sound  mind !  Had  not  His 
eye  foreseen  the  exodus  of  His  own  disciples 
from  bondage  into  freedom,  from  narrowness 
into  universalism,  from  bigotry  into  catholicity! 
Surely  the  sight  of  such  a  wide  transition  on 
the  Mount  nvight  well  inspire  confidence  for 
the  liberation  of  one  soul  on  the  plain ! 

I  do  not  agree,  then,  that  the  scene  at  the 
top  of  Hermon  is  the  antithesis  to  the  scene  at 
the  foot  of  it.  I  think  the  vision  on  the  summit 
was  the  preparation  for  the  spectacle  at  the 
base,  and  for  all  such  spectacles.  So  far  from 
deadening  the  tendency  of  Jesus  to  stoop,  I 
would  almost  be  disposed  to  say  that  it 
accelerated  this  tendency.  At  all  events, 
from  the  day  of  the  mountain  view,  His 
footsteps  are  quickened  down  the  hill  of 
humiliation.  Singularly  enough,  all  the 
exhibitions  of  pride  come  from  those  who 
had  not  been  on  the  mountain,  who  had 
been  left  behind  on  the  plain.  I  believe, 
as   I    have  said,   that   they   were   left   behind 


78  THE  EFFECT  OF 

in  order  to  teach  them  humility,  to  let  them 
try  themselves  alone.  They  were  doubtless 
the  most  self-conscious  of  the  company — the 
subordinate  members  of  a  company  usually 
are.  Their  very  surprise  at  their  own  failure 
to  heal  the  lunatic  boy  indicated  a  boundless 
conceit,  which  would  have  been  amusing  if 
it  had  not  been  sad.  Moreover,  the  special 
election  on  the  part  of  Jesus  had  fanned  the 
flame.  Three  of  their  brethren  had  been  set 
on  a  pinnacle,  had  been  taken  up  by  the 
Master  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  peculiar  privi- 
lege. The  selection  was  made  for  the  ad- 
vantage of  those  left  behind — Divine,  unlike 
natural,  selection  always  is.  But  the  men  left 
behind  could  not  see  beyond  the  hour — could 
see  nothing  but  the  preference.  The  Trans- 
figuration, for  those  who  had  not  seen  it, 
was  the  birth  in  the  apostolic  band  of  the 
green-eyed  monster,  jealousy.  Who  were 
Peter,  James,  and  John,  that  they  should  be 
thus  privileged !  Had  they  done  any  more 
than  the  others !  Was  the  kingdom  of  God, 
after  all,  to  be  simply  a  revival  of  the  kingdom 


THE  MOUNT  ON  THE  PLAIN  79 

of  Caesar!  Why  should  these  three  precede 
the  rest !  Were  they  not  all  as  good  men  as 
they !  Had  not  all  shared  equally  the  fortunes 
of  their  Lord !  Had  they  not  accepted  His 
kingdom  on  the  ground  that  it  was  to  be  free 
from  the  subordination  of  the  weak  to  the 
strong !  Why  create  a  subordination  on  the 
very  threshold  of  the  new  evangel ! 

So  talked  they  one  to  another  all  along  the 
road  to  Capernaum.  It  was  the  first  exhibi- 
tion of  professional  jealousy  ever  witnessed  by 
the  Church  of  God.  It  was  at  the  same  time 
the  earliest  protest  against  the  admission  into 
the  kingdom  of  Christ  of  the  doctrine  of 
election.  The  Transfiguration  was  the  birth- 
day of  apostolic  rivalry.  That  Jesus  should 
make  a  selection  from  the  twelve  seemed  an 
unjust  thing.  That  three  should  be  taken  to 
the  Mount  and  nine  left  grinding  at  the  mill, 
that  three  should  bask  in  the  glory  and  nine  be 
kept  working  in  the  field — this  was  something 
which  had  falsified  their  ideal  of  spiritual 
equality  and  Christian  brotherhood !  They 
had  been  quite  willing  that  the  twelve  should 


So  THE  EFFECT  OF 

have  been  selected  out  of  the  milh'on  ;  but  it 
was  intolerable  that  the  three  should  have 
been  privileged  above  the  nine ! 

What  they  did  not  see  was  that  in  both 
cases  the  favour  was  intended  for  those  left 
behind — that  the  twelve  had  been  selected 
for  the  sake  of  the  million,  the  three  for  the 
sake  of  the  nine.  Jesus  was  determined  they 
should  know  this ;  and  when  they  reached 
Capernaum  He  poured  forth  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  discourses  He  had  uttered  since 
the  delivery  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  It 
occupies  nearly  the  entire  space  of  Matthew 
xviii. ;  but  to  my  mind  its  nucleus  lies  in  the 
single  statement,  that  the  guardian  angels  in 
heaven  of  little  children  on  earth  always 
behold  the  face  of  the  heavenly  Father.  The 
idea  evidently  is  that  these  guardian  angels 
get  their  beatific  vision  in  order  to  make  them 
stoop.  Their  exaltation  has  not  the  effect  of 
making  them  look  up,  but  of  making  them  look 
down.  They  have  been  elevated  to  the  height 
in  order  that  they  may  bend  not  merely  to  the 
plain  but  to  the  valley — to  the  utmost  verge  of 


THE  MOUNT  ON  THE  PLAIN         8i 

human  impotence — to  the  helplessness  of  a 
child.  Let  me  again  try  reverently  to  para- 
phrase the  thought  of  Jesus. 

'You  think  that  three  of  your  number  have 
received  a  special  privilege.  From  a  selfish 
point  of  view,  from  your  point  of  view,  they 
have  not.  They  have  been  elected  not  to  a 
privilege  but  to  a  burden.  They  have  been 
taken  up  to  the  mount,  not  that  they  may  rise 
above  you,  but  that  they  may  bend  below 
you.  Some  one  is  needed  to  come  lower  than 
you  have  come.  You  have  been  lifting  your 
eyes  too  high.  You  have  been  considering 
that  your  mission  lies  with  the  strong  and 
mighty — with  those  who  can  help  the  advance 
of  the  kingdom.  I  tell  you  it  lies  with  the 
child-life  of  humanity — with  those  who  can 
give  nothing  and  must  receive  all.  To  go 
down  to  man  in  his  emptiness,  in  his  unre- 
munerativeness,  is  a  burdensome  thing.  I 
have  elected  three  of  you  to  bear  that  burden 
— to  help  you  towards  your  true  mission.  I 
have  brought  them  up  to  a  height  where  they 
could  behold  the  face  of  the  Father.     I  have 

VOL.  II.  F 


82  THE  EFFECT  OF 

done  so  because  the  guardian  angels  of  little 
children  are  there.  It  is  because  they  always 
behold  the  face  of  the  Father  that  they  are 
always  able  to  succour  little  children  ;  they  can 
stoop  low  because  they  see  so  much  glory. 
This  is  my  hope  for  your  three  brethren.  I 
want  them  to  be  humble,  more  humble  than 
you  are  now.  I  want  them  to  get  a  capacity 
for  bending  to  things  below  them,  and  to 
become  to  you,  to  all  men,  examples  of  that 
capacity.  Therefore  I  have  set  them  on  the 
height,  bathed  them  in  the  glory ;  there  is 
nothing  which  impels  to  the  cross  like  the 
sight  of  the  crown.' 

And  now,  impelled  by  that  same  Trans- 
figuration Light,  Jesus  Himself  hnrnes  towards 
the  cross.  At  last  He  takes  the  long-pro- 
jected outward  journey — the  journey  towards 
Jerusalem.  Jerusalem  looked  less  repulsive 
since  He  had  seen  it  on  the  Mount ;  the 
sepulchre  had  been  hid  by  the  stream  of  the 
exodus.  Driven  by  the  glory  of  the  Light, 
He  departs  from  Capernaum  almost  immedi- 
ately after  entering  it.      He  quits  the  scenes 


THE  MOUNT  ON  THE  PLAIN  83 

which  He  loved  the  best — the  scenes  of 
Galilee.  Again  it  might  be  written,  '  He  must 
needs  go  through  Samaria.'  The  Light  on 
the  top  of  Hermon  was  driving  Him  towards 
Jerusalem  by  the  shortest  way  possible. 
Samaria  was  the  shortest  way  possible ;  He 
must  go  by  Samaria.  But  Samaria  has  no 
well  for  Him  on  this  occasion  ;  her  well  is 
dry.  She  could  tolerate  one  bringing  a 
privilege  from  Judea  to  Galilee,  but  not  one 
bringing  a  privilege  from  Galilee  to  Judea. 
The  town  on  the  direct  route  shuts  its  gates 
on  Jesus  and  His  league  of  pity ;  Jesus  has 
to  journey  by  another  way.  Two  members 
of  the  league  are  opposed  to  this  turning  aside ; 
they  are  for  war,  fire  and  sword — the  method 
of  Elijah.  Who  are  these  two  members? 
*  Peter  must  have  been  one  of  them,'  you  say. 
Not  at  all.  It  is  the  two  sons  of  Zebedee — 
James  and  John.  Why  did  Peter  not  speak  ? 
I  will  hazard  a  conjecture.  Peter  was,  of  all 
men,  the  most  opposed  to  the  Jerusalem 
jOurney.  I  could  imagine  a  little  boy  who 
was  being  taken  to  school  for  the  first  time 


84  THE  EFFECT  OF 

experiencing  a  vivid  pleasure  when  the  coach 
broke  down.  I  think  some  such  pleasure  was 
at  the  heart  of  Peter  when  the  Samaritan  town 
refused  to  let  Jesus  in. 

But  perhaps  the  mystery  to  most  will  be, 
not  why  Peter  did  not  speak,  but  why  John 
did.  Has  the  brush  of  the  artist  been  guilty 
of  an  incongruous  colour?  Is  not  John  the 
disciple  of  love  ?  Yes  ;  but  there  is  no  fire 
like  the  fire  of  love.  It  is  a  familiar  saying 
that  love  will  go  through  fire  and  water  for 
its  object.  That  is  just  what  John  wanted  to 
do  for  Jesus.  We  are,  in  my  opinion,  in  a 
great  mistake  about  the  Bible  portraiture  of 
John.  We  think  of  him  as  a  s€^ntimentalist, 
a  dreamer.  That  he  certainly  is  not.  His 
very  love  is  the  reverse  of  sentimental ;  it  is 
pre-eminently  practical — it  is  a  keeping  of  the 
commandments.  John  is  the  man  of  waiting  ; 
but  there  is  a  waiting  which  comes  not  from 
vacillation  but  from  its  contrary  —  which  is 
the  result  of  settled  determination  and  sure 
confidence.  Nothing  tests  a  man's  character 
like  his  letters.    We  have  John's  letters.    They 


THE  MOUNT  ON  THE  PLAIN         85 

are  all  love  ;  but  it  is  practical  love  and  love 
fringed  with  fire.  *  If  a  man  say,  "  I  love 
God,"  and  hateth  his  brother,  he  is  a  liar.' 
Is  that  the  language  of  a  sentimentalist? 
Could  Elijah  himself  have  spoken  more 
strongly?  You  tell  me  that  in  this  very 
scene  before  Samaria  Jesus  rebukes  him  for 
the  want  of  love :  '  You  know  not  what  spirit 
you  are  of.'  Yes — in  our  version ;  but  the 
words  are  absent  from  all  the  good  MSS.  John 
did  not  err  by  want  of  love,  but  by  love's 
intolerance.  Samaria  and  John  were  both 
intolerant ;  Samaria  was  intolerant  from  pride, 
John  was  intolerant  from  love.  Samaria 
looked  into  the  mirror,  saw  herself,  and  would 
brook  no  rival ;  John  gazed  into  the  face  of 
Jesus,  saw  heaven,  and  would  brook  no  gates 
of  earth.  Samaria  would  have  exterminated 
all  those  who  would  introduce  a  larger 
sympathy;  John  would  have  exterminated  all 
those  who  would  narrow  the  sympathy  of 
universal  love.  The  fire  which  he  would 
have  kindled  was  in  the  interest  of  humani- 
tarianism. 


86  THE  EFFECT  OF 

'nr^EACH  mc,  O  Lord,  to  tolerate  Samaria; 
it  is  the  climax  of  human  charity! 
Teach  me  that  the  siHiimer  of  broad-minded- 
ness is  the  power  to  tolerate  zV/tolerance !  I 
boast  of  my  breadth  of  sympathy ;  I  call 
myself  a  catholic  mind;  and  I  deem  the 
proof  of  it  to  be  that  there  is  one  thing  I 
have  no  sympathy  with — narrowness.  Teach 
me  that  the  want  of  this  one  sympathy  is  the 
absence  of  perfect  broadness  —  the  one  step 
between  me  and  heaven !  I  have  tolerated 
all  doubts ;  I  have  pardoned  all  agnosticisms ; 
I  have  condoned  all  breakings  with  the  past ; 
but  I  have  had  no  sympathy  with  those  who 
have  clung  to  the  past.  I  have  made  no 
allowance  for  the  man  who  insists  that  yester- 
day was  better  than  to-day.  I  can  accept 
the  open  gates  of  Galilee ;  but  I  have  no 
excuse  for  the  shut  gates  of  Samaria.  I  shall 
never  reach  that  sympathy  till  I  come  to  Thee. 
Thou  alone  art  broad  enough  to  sympathise 
with  narrowness.  Thou  alone  art  tolerant 
enough  to  pardon  wtolerance.  Thou  alone 
art  large  enough  to  recognise  the  claims  of 


THE  MOUNT  ON  THE  PLAIN  87 

smallness.  Thou  alone  art  high  enough  to 
bear  with  the  errors  of  a  little  mind.  When 
I  am  confronted  by  the  shut  gates  of  Samaria 
I  will  come  to  Thee\ 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE    UNCHASTE    LIFE 

The  Bible  is  the  most  dramatic  book  in  the 
world.  It  introduces  its  characters  and  its 
scenes  without  preface.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
more  correct  to  say  that  it  does  not  introduce 
them  at  all.  It  does  not  show  us  a  dropping 
of  the  old  curtain  and  a  lifting  of  the  new. 
There  is  no  curtain.  You  find  yourself  suddenly, 
unexpectedly,  without  prelude  and  without  pre- 
paration, in  the  midst  of  new  surroundings  and 
in  the  centre  of  fresh  lives.  The  narrative  of 
the  life  of  Jesus  is  conducted  on  the  same 
principles.  There  is  no  line  of  demarcation 
between  to-day  and  to-morrow.  You  are  at 
one  moment  in  the  streets  of  Nazareth,  and 
the  next  in  the  market-place  of  Capernaum ; 
and  there  is  no  record  of  a  transition  from  the 
one  to  the  other.     The  Book  which  most  pro- 


THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE  89 

fesses  to  be  inspired  of  God  has  left  the  largest 
margin  to  the  imagination  of  man. 

Nowhere  is  the  principle  more  marked  than 
at  the  stage  of  the  life  of  Jesus  at  which  we 
have  now  arrived.  We  found  Him  preparing 
for  Jerusalem ;  we  left  Him  at  the  gates  of 
Samaria  in  pursuance  of  His  journey.  We 
expect  that  the  next  stage  of  the  narrative 
will  be  a  record  of  His  entrance  into  the 
Holy  City.  We  deem  that  if  the  approach 
to  Samaria  is  recorded,  much  more  will  be 
the  approach  to  Jerusalem.  But  when  the 
next  scene  opens,  the  journey  is  already  com- 
pleted ;  we  are  told  that  Jesus  has  gone  up 
'secretly.'  We  see  Him  walking  the  streets 
of  Jerusalem  as  if  He  had  been  there  for  years. 
He  has  already  taken  His  place  as  teacher, 
monitor,  legislator.  We  are  conscious  of  a 
seemingly  abrupt  change.  The  man  who  had 
wandered  depressed  under  the  shadows  of 
Hermon,  the  man  who  had  seemed  to  hide 
himself  from  the  sight  of  the  sepulchre,  blazes 
forth  in  the  heart  of  Jerusalem  into  the  aspect 
of  a  lawgiver — not  the   lawgiver  to  an   indi- 


90  THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE 

vidual,  not  the  lawgiver  to  a  league  of  pity, 
not  the  lawgiver  even  to  the  Jewish  nation,  but 
a  lawgiver  to  the  race  of  Man. 

And,  as  we  stand  in  the  great  gallery,  we 
ask,  Is  this  the  same  Portrait?  Is  this  the 
same  Jesus  whom  we  saw  weighted  with  the 
thought  of  death  ?  Many  have  answered,  No. 
Many  have  said  that  some  after-hand  has 
touched  the  Portrait.  Not  so  say  I.  To  me 
the  change  is  profoundly  natural,  the  only 
thing  that  would  have  been  natural.  When 
you  speak  of  an  abrupt  transition  from  de- 
pression to  confidence,  you  forget  what  has 
intervened — the  vision  of  the  exodus.  You 
forget  that  on  the  heights  of  Hermon  the 
eye  of  Jesus  has  gazed  upon  the  prospect  of 
resurrection.  The  sepulchre  itself  is  not  a 
whit  less  repulsive  ;  the  thing  which  He  dreaded 
in  the  thought  of  death  remains  to  Him  dread- 
ful still ;  but  He  has  seen  a  light  beyond  the 
sepulchre.  Not  yet  has  it  dawned  upon  Him 
that  death  itself  would  be  His  brightest  crown ; 
but  there  has  broken  on  Him  the  sight  of 
Easter  Morning,  and  the  possibility  of  a  second 


THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE  91 

worldly  birth.  Entering  by  degrees  into  the 
full  revelation  of  His  Father,  He  had  come  to 
a  place  where  He  could  rest  in  hope.  It  did 
not  guarantee  the  success  of  His  present 
mission,  but  it  opened  up  the  prospect  of  a 
new  mission.  It  suggested  that  He  might 
begin  again  under  fresh  auspices,  and  that 
the  path  abandoned  in  tears  might  by  a 
second  effort  be  resumed  in  joy. 

Accordingly,  Jesus  enters  Jerusalem  with 
a  new  hope  in  His  heart.  It  is  not  a  hope 
for  the  renovation  of  His  present  enterprise, 
but  for  the  inauguration  of  a  second  enterprise. 
None  the  less  did  it  lend  elasticity  to  His 
steps  and  strength  to  His  soul.  In  the  midst 
of  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles  He  stands  in  the 
temple  as  a  lawgiver.  In  the  courts  of  that 
house  from  which  He  had  expelled  the  buyers 
and  sellers  He  now  appears  as  the  legislator  on 
a  weightier  matter.  On  the  very  threshold  of 
this  Jerusalem  ministry  we  are  confronted  by 
an  incident  which  has  transfixed  the  attention 
of  the  world.  It  occurs  in  our  version  of  John's 
gospel,  though  it  is  doubtful  whether  it  formed 


92  THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE 

an  original  part  of  that  gospel.  At  all  events, 
it  comes  from  a  record  of  the  apostolic  age  and 
demands  a  place  in  any  study  of  the  Portrait 
of  Jesus.  It  has  been  said  that  in  the  place 
which  it  occupies  in  John's  gospel  it  interrupts 
the  narrative.  It  does  not,  at  all  events,  in- 
terrupt the  stream  of  the  development.  I  could 
not  imagine  for  it  any  more  appropriate  place 
than  that  which  it  now  holds  in  the  life  of 
Jesus.  Whoever  inserted  it  in  its  present 
position  must  have  been  a  man  of  great  dis- 
cernment and  a  mind  of  deep  poetic  insight. 
Let  us  stand  in  the  gallery  and  examine  this 
phase  of  the  Picture. 

Jesus  had  for  some  days  been  teaching  in 
the  temple.  He  had  made  a  powerful  im- 
pression on  all  but  the  Pharisaic  party.  There 
were  hundreds  ready  to  receive  Him  as 
Messiah ;  there  were  hundreds  who,  without 
going  so  far,  were  prepared  to  consider  it  an 
open  question.  His  Jerusalem  ministry  had 
as  yet  been  all  verbal ;  but  His  words  had 
been  very  bold.  His  voice  in  the  temple 
had  been  the  counterpart  of  His  voice  in  the 


THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE 


93 


desert.  In  the  desert  He  had  been  speaking 
to  the  working-classes,  and  therefore  He  had 
appealed  to  man's  sense  of  toil:  'Come  unto 
me,  ye  that  labour,  and  I  will  give  you  rest ' ; 
in  the  temple  He  was  speaking  to  the  intel- 
lectual classes,  and  therefore  He  had  appealed 
to  a  different  sense :  '  If  any  man  thirst,  let  him 
come  unto  me  and  drink.'  Like  the  invitation 
in  the  desert,  the  invitation  in  the  temple  had 
come  with  the  joy  of  Jesus.  It  was  not,  indeed, 
that  perfect  joy  He  had  experienced  in  the 
desert.  It  was  rather  a  breaking  than  a  lifting 
of  the  cloud — rather  a  sight  of  coming  dawn 
than  an  actual  sense  of  illumination.  Yet, 
such  as  it  was,  it  was  stimulative ;  and  the 
principle  was  again  revealed,  that  sympathetic 
enthusiasm  has  its  ultimate  source  not  in  the 
grief  but  in  the  gladness  of  the  soul. 

To  keep  alive  this  dayspring,  to  keep  alive 
this  thought  of  resurrection  as  distinct  from 
death,  Jesus  goes  in  the  evening  of  one  of 
these  days  to  the  Mount  of  Olives ;  He  desires 
in  the  presence  of  the  Mount  of  Olives  to  fan 
His  memory  of  the  Mount  of  Hermon.     AH 


94  THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE 

night  He  spends  in  imbibing  this  joy.  He 
returns  in  the  morning  and  resumes  His 
labours  in  the  temple.  Suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  His  discourse,  there  is  an  interrup- 
tion. There  is  a  commotion  at  the  door,  and 
the  attention  of  the  crowd  is  arrested.  A 
party  of  the  Pharisees  enter,  hurrying  into  the 
presence  of  Jesus  the  unwilling  steps  of  an 
unfortunate  woman.  She  has  violated  the  law 
of  female  chastity.  For  such  a  violation  Moses 
had  imposed  the  penalty  of  death.  That 
penalty  had  long  become  obsolete.  But  the 
accusers  of  this  woman  said, '  Whoever  claims 
to  be  the  Messiah  ought  to  revive  it.'  You 
miss  the  point  altogether,  in  my  opinion,  if 
you  imagine  that  they  only  wished  to  involve 
Jesus  in  a  question  of  theory.^  They  wanted 
Him,  on  the  strength  of  His  Messianic  claim, 
to  condemn  the  woman  to  be  stoned.  They 
held,  and  I  think  rightly,  that  if  Jesus  should 

*  I  believe  John  viii.  6  to  be  an  addition  to  the  original 
narrative — the  explanatory  note  of  an  early  commentator.  I 
think  the  original  narrative  does  not  lend  itself  to  that  explana- 
tion. The  Pharisees  seem  to  me  to  have  had  a  genuine  horror 
of  the  woman. 


THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE  $$ 

say,  '  Let  her  die,'  public  opinion  was  running 
so  high  in  His  favour  that  the  mandate  would 
be  obeyed  by  the  multitude.  True,  He  would 
then  be  the  enemy  of  Rome,  to  whom  alone 
the  power  of  inflicting  death  belonged.  But 
ought  not  the  Messiah  to  be  independent  of 
Rome !  If  Jesus  were  Messiah,  should  He 
not  rule  from  sea  to  sea!  Should  He  not 
establish  the  kingdom  of  Israel  on  the  top  of 
the  mountains !  Was  the  authority  of  Moses 
ideally  inferior  to  that  of  Caesar !  Was  not 
the  law  of  Moses  God's  law !  If  Moses 
enacted  death  for  the  breach  of  female 
chastity,  was  not  that  at  the  same  time  the 
enactment  of  Heaven !  Why  should  not 
Jesus,  if  He  were  Messiah,  revive  the  old 
penalty  against  the  morally  impure  ! 

I  believe  this  act  of  the  Pharisees  was  an 
honest  attempt  to  put  the  pretensions  of  Jesus 
to  the  proof.  They  selected  for  the  trial  their 
own  field — the  field  of  morality.  They  said, 
*  We  have  grave  doubts  of  the  claims  of  Jesus ; 
but  we  will  give  him  a  chance  in  the  sphere 
we  think  the  most  important — the  sphere  of 


96  THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE 

social  chastity.'  I  have  no  doubt  whatever 
that  their  animus  against  the  woman  was 
genuine.  This  particular  kind  of  sin  was  pre- 
cisely the  one  from  which  a  Pharisee  was  apt 
to  be  free.  There  are  cases  in  which  Satan 
casts  out  Satan ;  there  are  men  and  women 
who  are  exempt  from  certain  vices  simply 
through  the  presence  of  other  vices.  A  cold, 
phlegmatic  nature  would  never  commit  the 
sins  of  Robert  Burns.  This  does  not  justify 
Robert  Burns ;  but  it  shows  that  one  disease 
may  be  cured  by  another  disease.  It  is  a 
matter  of  daily  experience  that  the  advent  of 
a  new  ailment  may  cause  an  already  existing 
ailment  to  subside  ;  there  are  forms  of  physical 
illness  which  cannot  live  together.  There  are 
forms  of  moral  illness  which  are  also  mutually 
antagonistic.  I  cannot  imagine  that  the 
typical  Judas  Iscariot  could  ever  have  been 
guilty  of  that  form  of  sin  which  characterised 
this  woman.^     The  man  who  could  carefully 

^  I  use  the  phrase  'the  <y/?Va/ Judas  Iscariot'  because,  as  1 
shall  hereafter  show,  the  prevalent  conception  of  him  is  not 
my  ov/n. 


THE  UNCHASTE  IJFE  97 

count  out  thirty  pieces  of  silver  as  the  price 
of  his  Lord's  betrayal  would  never  have 
committed  the  wwcalculations  of  her  who 
squandered  life,  reputation,  respectability,  on 
the  sensuous  passion  of  an  hour. 

The  Pharisees,  then,  were,  up  to  their  light, 
quite  honest.  They  wanted  a  drastic  reform 
of  social  morals — a  reform  which  should  con- 
sist, not  in  purifying,  but  in  eliminating,  the 
sinner.  They  were  willing  that  Jesus  should 
peril  His  claim  to  Messiahship  on  the  test  of 
His  ability  to  initiate  that  reform.  They 
bring  the  trembling  culprit  before  His  judg- 
ment-seat. '  Revive  I  they  cried,  'the  hand- 
writing of  Moses — the  law  of  death  against 
unchastity  I '  And  here  there  occurs  a  remark- 
able scene — a  scene  which  has  puzzled  the 
commentators.  As  the  accusers  are  speaking, 
Jesus  stoops  down  and  writes,  with  His  finger, 
on  the  ground.  What  does  He  mean  ?  The 
popular  answer  has  always  been,  'He  wants 
to  show  that  He  is  paying  no  attention.'  I 
cannot  accept  that  answer.  It  was  not  a  case 
for  paying  no  attention  ;  it  was  a  case  for  very 

VOL.  IL  G 


98  THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE 

great  attention  indeed.  Jesus  had  been  ap- 
pealed to  as  the  guardian  of  social  morals. 
Was  such  an  appeal  to  be  treated  with  con- 
tempt, or  even  with  the  appearance  of  con- 
tempt !  The  Pharisees  had  proposed  a  grave 
problem — had,  as  I  think,  honestly  proposed  it. 
They  had  brought  before  Jesus  a  matter  which 
was  near  to  their  hearts ;  was  Jesus  to  adopt 
a  gesture  which  would  indicate  that  they  were 
speaking  to  the  empty  air !  We  must  seek 
a  better  solution  of  the  handwriting  on  the 
ground. 

And  I  think  we  can  find  it.  Moses  had 
written  on  stone  his  law  of  death  against 
unchastity.  Jesus  by  his  gesture  said  :  '  I  write 
this  day  another  law,  a  higher  law.  The  law 
which  I  write  on  this  pavement  is  "  none  but 
the  pure  can  sentence."  I  demand  a  wq^n  jury 
for  the  old  law  of  Moses — a  jury  of  the  first- 
born in  heaven.  Shall  this  woman  be  judged 
by  men  who  have  avoided  her  temptation  only 
by  a  counter  sin — who  have  escaped  the  over- 
flow of  feeling  by  suppressing  feeling  alto- 
gether !     She  has  done  wrong  to  society  by 


THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE  99 

too  imich  passion  ;  have  they  done  right  by 
too  little  I  Are  there  no  poor  around  their 
doors  unfed,  no  sick  before  their  gates  un- 
tended,  no  souls  within  their  bounds  untaught ! ' 
And  He  lifted  up  His  eyes  and  said:  'Let 
him  that  is  without  sin  among  you  cast  the 
first  stone  at  her  ! ' 

Then  there  happens  a  strange  thing.  The 
accusers  go  out  one  by  one.  I  think  they 
were  afraid  of  the  clairvoyance  of  Jesus — 
afraid  lest  He  should  expose  them  to  the  crowd. 
I  do  not  for  a  moment  suppose  they  were 
convicted  of  hypocrisy,  nor  that  they  had  been 
guilty  of  hypocrisy.  The  sin  of  the  woman 
had  never  been  their  sin;  their  indignation, 
so  far  as  it  went,  had  been  sincere.  But  it 
had  not  gone  far  enough.  They  should  have 
asked  if  their  own  passionlessness  had  not  been 
responsible  for  this  woman's  passion,  if  their 
neglect  of  the  poor  had  not  caused  the  poor 
to  grow  up  vicious.  They  did  ask  it  now — 
with  that  blazing  eye  turned  upon  them  and 
that  piercing  glance  penetrating  them.  They 
asked  it,  and  they  fled  from  the  answer.     One 


lOO  THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE 

by  one  they  left  the  judgment-seat,  until  of 
all  the  actors  in  that  scene  there  remained  but 
two — the  criminal  and  the  judge. 

Paul  says  that  the  immediate  judgment  of 
the  soul  at  death  is  before  Jesus  only ;  we 
'depart  to  be  with  Christ'  Was  he  thinking 
of  this  scene  —  the  criminal  and  the  judge 
alone  ?  It  is  impressive  enough  for  any  picture- 
gallery.  It  is  pure  and  absolute  contrast ; 
night  stands  starless  in  the  presence  of  the 
day.  And  what  is  the  verdict  of  the  day 
upon  the  night?  It  is  a  strange  verdict: 
*  You  are  black ;  but  I  send  you  towards 
the  sun.  You  are  guilty ;  but  I  bury  your 
yesterday.  You  are  unworthy  to  live ;  but 
you  shall  live  to  be  worthy,  I  condemn 
you,  and  I  absolve  you.  I  blame  your  past, 
and  I  wipe  it  out  for  ever.  Begin  afresh ; 
try  again ;  start  free.  You  will  be  judged 
by  deeds  to  come,  not  by  days  departed  ;  go 
and  sin  no  more  !' 

And  now  you  will  understand  why  I  have 
placed  this  narrative  here,  and  not  elsewhere. 
Whence  this  hopefulness  of  the  Great  Physi- 


THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE  loi 

cian,  who  of  all  others  had  the  deepest  sense 
of  sin's  malignity?  Why  should  Jesus  have 
seen  a  chance  for  this  woman  in  the  future 
which  she  had  not  found  yesterday  or  to-day  ? 
I  answer,  because  He  had  stood  on  Mount 
Hermon,  because  He  had  seen  the  exodus. 
He  had  gazed  on  the  possibility  of  a  resurrec- 
tion life.  He  had  seen  in  anticipation  a  glori- 
fying of  the  frail  environment.  He  had  seen 
the  glorified  body  with  its  glorified  prospects. 
He  had  beheld  a  break  in  the  old  heredity — 
a  new  stream  of  life  impregnating  and  counter- 
acting the  blood  of  the  first  Adam.  And  there 
had  risen  within  Him  a  great  hope — a  hope 
for  the  totally  depraved,  a  hope  of  new  con- 
ditions even  for  the  dead  in  trespasses  and 
in  sin.  It  was  this  that  made  the  pure  Son 
of  Man  more  sanguine  for  the  bad  than  were 
the  tmpuTQ  Pharisees. 


'T^HEREFORE,  Son   of  Man,    I   come  to 

•^     T/iee\      I  will   not  accept  the  Pharisee 

as  my  judge.     He  has  never  stood  on  Mount 


loa  THE  UNCHASTE  LIFE 

Hermon  ;  he  has  never  seen  the  exodus.  He 
has  far  less  hope  of  me  than  Thou  hast.  My 
human  judges  have  no  sight  of  the  Resurrec- 
tion Morning,  no  sight  of  the  new  environment 
that  is  coming  to  me.  They  do  not  see  my 
future  possibilities.  Send  them  all  out,  O 
Lord !  Dismiss  them  from  the  temple  where 
they  stand,  accusing!  Debar  them  from  the 
judgment-seat  one  by  one!  And  when  they 
have  all  departed,  let  me  stand  alone  with 
Thee — the  only  pure,  the  only  stainless  One ! 
Let  my  night  be  confronted  not  by  their  candle^ 
but  by  Thy  day\  I  would  have  no  lamp  to 
search  my  soul  but  the  flaming  lamp  of  heaven. 
I  shall  only  be  judged  in  righteousness  when 
I  am  alone  v/ith  Thee, 


CHAPTER    VIII 

CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  JERUSALEM 
MINISTRY 

We  are  now  called  to  contemplate  the  Picture 
of  Jesus  from  another  position.  Standing  in 
the  great  gallery,  we  are  conscious  that  the 
hand  of  the  artist  has  somewhere  imparted  a 
fresh  touch  to  the  Portrait.  Before  inquiring 
into  the  nature  of  the  touch,  let  us  mark  where 
it  has  been  imparted.  It  is  at  the  point  of 
the  Jerusalem  ministry.  Jesus  at  Jerusalem 
had  entered,  so  to  speak,  upon  a  new  diocese. 
I  would  add  that  it  was  also  a  final  diocese. 
I  do  not  say  He  never  went  back  to  Galilee 
again ;  He  did  go  back.  I  do  not  say  He 
never  preached  in  Galilee  again ;  He  did 
preach.  But  He  went  back  and  preached  just 
as  a  minister  who  has  changed  his  parish  may 
go  back  to  officiate  at  a  service  in  his  former 

103 


I04  CHARACTERISTICS  OF 

church.  Wherever  for  the  future  Jesus  may 
be  geographically  —  whether  in  Galilee  or  in 
Peraea  or  at  Bethany,  He  is  still  in  the  Jeru- 
salem ministry,  and  all  His  utterances  are  to 
be  interpreted  as  the  reflections  and  the  echoes 
of  that  ministry,  I  shall  therefore,  in  illus- 
trating the  new  attitude  He  assumes  to  man, 
have  no  scruple  whatever  in  binding  together 
the  words  He  uttered  in  different  localities. 

There  are  some  changes  of  diocese  that 
inevitably  involve  a  change  of  teaching.  I 
do  not  allude  to  the  differences  in  intellectual 
culture ;  I  am  speaking  of  moral  distinctions. 
The  besetting  sin  of  one  district  is  often  quite 
different  from  the  besetting  sin  of  another. 
Whenever  a  preacher  experiences  this,  he  has  to 
change  his  front.  It  occurred  in  the  transition 
of  Jesus  from  Galilee  to  Jerusalem.  Galilee 
and  Jerusalem  had  opposite  moral  dangers, 
Galilee  was  in  danger  of  being  too  broad ; 
Jerusalem  was  in  peril  of  becoming  too  narrow. 
Galilee  was  nearer  to  heathen  vicinities,  and 
had  caught  more  of  the  Gentile  atmosphere ; 
Jerusalem  was  enclosed   in  the   heart  of  the 


THE  JERUSALEM  MINISTRY         105 

land,  and  received  only  the  traditions  of  the 
past.  Galilee  was  apt  to  be  corrupted  by 
secular  influences  ;  Jerusalem  was  in  danger  of 
suppressing  the  instincts  of  common  humanity. 
Now,  this  I  take  to  be  the  explanation  of 
a  very  remarkable  fact.  When  Jesus  trans- 
ferred Himself  from  the  diocese  of  Galilee  to 
the  diocese  of  Jerusalem  His  teaching  became 
vastly  more  catholic.  The  distinctive  note  of 
the  Jerusalem  ministry  is  just  its  catholicity ; 
it  breaks  over  the  national  borders  in  a  flood 
of  universal  blessing.  Why  so  ?  Was  not  the 
air  of  Galilee  more  free,  more  favourable  to 
cosmopolitan  preaching?  Why,  then,  is  the 
gospel  in  Galilee  so  much  less  cosmopolitan? 
Why  is  it  there  and  not  in  Jerusalem  that 
we  get  the  restrictions  about  the  way  of  the 
Gentiles  and  the  villages  of  the  Samaritans? 
It  is  because  the  peril  of  a  community  lies 
where  its  facility  lies.  We  put  the  drag  on, 
going  down  hill  —  where  there  is  a  previous 
tendency  to  accelerate  movement.  Jesus  put 
a  restraint  on  Galilee  and  sought  to  lift  the 
restraint   from   Jerusalem.      The  one  had  an 


io6  CHARACTERISTICS  OF 

element  of  over- recklessness,  the  other  an  ele- 
ment of  over-caution.  Either  element  might 
become  a  danger ;  either  might  develop  a 
barrier  to  the  progress  of  Man. 

I  am  prepared  to  show  that  the  Jerusalem 
ministry  of  Jesus,  by  which  I  mean  all  the 
future  ministry  of  Jesus  wherever  transacted, 
was  professedly  a  Messianic  ministry  to  the 
united  world.  I  say  'professedly.*  It  was 
always  so  implicitly — in  the  thought  of  Jesus. 
But  at  Jerusalem  it  was  for  the  first  time 
openly  avowed.  This  was  the  sting  of  the 
Jerusalem  ministry.  Read  the  eighth  chapter 
of  St.  John.  For  a  long  time  I  did  not  under- 
stand that  chapter.  It  puzzled  me  with  its 
seeming  irrelevance.  I  heard  Jesus  reiterating 
that  He  had  come  from  above,  that  His  origin 
was  higher  than  that  of  His  auditors,  that 
He  had  proceeded  from  the  Father,  got  His 
message  from  the  Father,  been  sent  by  the 
Father.  I  heard  the  audience  reply  that  they 
were  quite  satisfied  with  their  own  origin,  that 
they  were  Abraham's  seed,  that  they  wanted 
no  help  from  any  other  parentage,  that  they 


THE  JERUSALEM  MINISTRY         107 

had  derived  from  their  present  parentage  all 
the  freedom  they  ever  desired  to  possess.  I 
heard  these  two  voices,  and  I  asked  myself, 
what  does  it  all  mean?  I  could  not  see  the 
point  at  issue.  I  could  not  see,  either  why 
Jesus  should  at  Jerusalem  have  been  so  eager 
to  emphasise  His  separate  origin,  or  why  the 
men  of  Jerusalem  should  have  been  so  eager 
to  rebut  it.  It  was  a  mystery  to  me,  an 
enigma. 

At  last  by  a  single  corner  there  entered  a 
stream  of  sunlight.  One  little  verse  illumin- 
ated the  whole  chapter,  and  I  beheld  in  a 
flash  the  mystery  made  manifest  The  words 
that  lighted  me  were  these :  '  I  speak  to  The 
World  those  things  which  I  have  heard  of  Him 
that  sent  me.'  In  that  sentence  I  saw  it  all. 
I  saw  why  Jesus  had  taken  this  and  no  other 
moment  to  insist  that  He  was  not  ultimately 
descended  from  Abraham.  The  man  who  came 
from  Abraham  could  only  have  a  mission  for 
the  Jewish  nation.  But  the  life  which  came 
from  the  Father  must  have  a  message  for  all 
nations.     If  he  came  from  the  Father  he  might 


io8  CHARACTERISTICS  OF 

well  say  '  I  speak  to  The  World!  The  man  who 
has  claimed  the  blood  of  a  heredity  extending 
behind  the  birth  of  every  nation  has  claimed 
far  more  than  a  stupendous  height)  he  has 
claimed  an  enormous  breadth ;  and  it  is  the 
breadth  and  not  the  height  that  first  startles 
the  men  of  Jerusalem.  A  son  of  Abraham, 
however  great  he  might  be,  had  their  own 
blood  in  his  veins  ;  a  Son  of  God,  even  though 
He  passed  through  Abraham,  had  also  blood 
foreign  to  theirs.  To  be  the  son  of  Abraham 
was  to  be  their  Messiah ;  to  be  the  Son  of 
God  was  to  be  the  Messiah  of  all  men.  It 
was  not  merely  to  be  the  Messiahy^r  all  men ; 
this  every  Jew  would  admit  his  Messiah  to 
have  been,  for  the  benefits  of  the  Christ  were 
to  be  universal  benefits.  But  if  the  Christ  had 
the  blood  oi  all  nations  in  Him,  where  was  the 
significance  of  the  Jew !  Could  he  claim  any 
longer  a  unique  position  !  Could  he  aspire 
any  longer  even  to  be  the  distributor  of  God's 
favours  to  the  world !  Had  not  the  world  in 
that  case  an  equal  right  to  these  favours !  He 
was  not  entitled  any  more  to  say  to  the  beggar 


THE  JERUSALEM  MINISTRY         109 

'  Come  up  into  my  chariot'  The  chariot  was 
the  beggar's  as  much  as  his ;  it  was  to  go  the 
round  of  common  humanity  and  take  up  every 
man  according  to  his  need.  Such  a  gospel 
might  be  for  the  glory  of  God,  but  it  was 
certainly  not  for  the  glory  of  Jerusalem.  Such 
was  the  thought  that  wakened  the  metropolitan 
opposition  to  Jesus.  *  Before  Abraham  was,  I 
am,'  seems  politically  a  very  harmless  state- 
ment. It  was,  in  truth,  a  statement  which,  ii 
admitted,  was  the  death-blow  to  Judaism. 
Once  concede  that  Abraham  got  his  life  from 
Jesus  instead  of  Jesus  getting  His  life  from 
Abraham,  and  you  have  reduced  Israel  from 
being  the  possible  metropolis  of  the  world  to 
being  but  one  of  the  many  mansions  in  the 
house  of  the  Father.  Abraham  could  in  that 
case  be  still  a  branch  of  the  tree ;  but  so  would 
Caesar,  so  would  Socrates.  Judea,  as  such, 
would  have  no  Messiah ;  she  would  have  only 
her  share  in  the  World's  Messiah. 

Now,  this  is  the  doctrine  which,  in  my  opinion, 
Jesus  had  long  held  in  His  heart,  and  which 
from  this  time  onward  He  expressed  openly. 


no  CHARACTERISTICS  OF 

From  the  moment  He  contemplated  the 
shadow  of  death,  even  while  He  shrank  from 
that  shadow,  He  had  seen  Himself  in  a 
universal  relation  to  humanity.  From  the 
moment  He  contemplated  resurrection  He 
had  ceased  to  look  back  to  Bethlehem.  From 
the  moment  He  stood  on  the  summit  of 
Mount  Hermon  He  had  begun  to  view  the 
exodus  as  a  present  reality  —  to  regard  as 
within  measurable  distance  the  day  when 
the  followers  of  His  banner  should  claim  all 
nations  as  their  brethren  in  arms.  And  now, 
from  the  outset  of  this  Jerusalem  campaign 
the  war-cry  never  wavers ;  it  is  a  battle-call  to 
the  united  earth.  It  is  a  war-cry  wrung  out  by 
present  pain,  a  cry  for  liberation.  The  narrow 
atmosphere  was  stifling  to  Jesus ;  it  caused 
His  sympathies  to  beat  against  the  cage,  and 
struggle  to  be  free.  Nowhere  is  He  so  broad 
in  expression  as  in  this  Jerusalem  ministry. 
From  no  spot  do  His  spoken  sympathies 
radiate  so  widely  as  from  the  sphere  that 
would  limit  them.  It  is  now  I  hear  Him  cry, 
•  Other  sheep  I  have  that  are  not  of  this  fold.' 


THE  JERUSALEM  MINISTRY         iii 

It  is  now  I  hear  Him  speak  a  kind  word  for 
heathen  Tyre  and  Sidon,  remembering,  doubt- 
less, some  kindness  shown  to  Him  in  His 
wanderings  there.  It  is  now  I  hear  Him  tell 
an  imaginary  story  of  an  orthodox  Levite  and 
a  heretical  Samaritan,  and  boldly  turn  the 
balance  in  favour  of  the  latter.  Was  this,  too, 
a  memory  of  kindness?  Yes — of  the  thirst 
assuaged  at  the  well.  I  know  there  was  a 
later  reminiscence  less  grateful  than  that — the 
remembrance  of  the  shut  gates.  But  in  the 
soul  of  Jesus  the  memory  of  a  kindness  long 
past  outweighs  the  memory  of  an  ««kindness 
freshly  given  ;  and  He  judges  Samaria  by  her 
morning  light — the  sparkling  of  the  well. 

But  in  expounding  this  phase  of  the  mind 
of  Jesus  I  cannot  stop  here.  I  am  bound  to 
go  much  further,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
He  went  further.  I  have  said  He  expressed 
at  this  stage  a  universal  sympathy ;  but  He 
expressed  more  than  that.  Jew  and  Gentile 
were,  to  His  mind,  equal  in  origin ;  but,  to 
His  mind,  they  were  not  equal  in  advantages. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  Gentile  had,  in 


112  CHARACTERISTICS  OF 

His  view,  greater  facility  for  becoming  a 
follower  of  the  new  faith.  He  had  so  for  the 
very  reason  that  he  had  gone  more  astray. 
Every  note  of  this  ministry  strikes  that  chord. 
The  Gentile's  claim  is  not  that  he  is  specially 
fallen.  It  is  not  that  one  sheep — the  Gentile,  is 
lost  and  ought  to  be  sought  for,  that  one  piece 
of  money  is  lost  and  ought  to  be  searched  for, 
that  one  brother  has  become  a  prodigal  and 
ought  to  be  prayed  for.  When  Jesus  speaks 
of  the  ninety-nine  safe  sheep  and  of  the  elder 
brother  who  never  went  wrong.  He  is  de- 
scribing the  Jew  at  the  Jew's  own  rate  of 
valuation.  In  the  view  of  Jesus  the  sheep 
were  all  lost,  the  coins  all  lost,  the  brothers 
both  lost ;  the  only  difference  was  that  one 
sheep,  one  coin,  one  brother,  was  lost  in  a 
farther  field.  And  what  Jesus  really  means  is 
that  the  one  lost  in  the  farther  field  was  the 
most  worth  seeking — the  one  which  presented 
the  greatest  facilities  for  being  found,  the  one 
which,  when  found,  was  ripest  for  restoration 
to  the  old  environment. 

That  is  the  thought  which  dominated  this 


THE  JERUSALEM  MINISTRY         113 

stage  of  the  ministry  of  Jesus.  The  question 
occurs,  why?  Wkjy  should  the  most  erring 
have  been  the  most  promising?  Is  error  a 
preparation  for  grace  ?  Are  we  nearer  to  the 
main  road  the  farther  we  go  astray?  Does 
not  one  feel  disposed  to  echo  the  words  of  the 
elder  brother,  the  Jewish  brother  in  the 
parable :  '  Have  not  I  lived  a  life  of  outward 
respectability  ;  has  not  my  brother  lived  a  life 
of  shame  ?  How,  then,  has  /le  so  much  more 
joy?  I  have  never  done  anything  so  flagrantly 
bad ;  yet  for  me  there  has  been  no  music 
or  dancing,  no  ring  or  robe,  no  killing  of  the 
fatted  calf  that  I  might  make  merry  with  my 
friends.  /  have  strayed  less  far  from  home, 
yet  /te  has  returned  before  me.' 

I  shall  answer  this  complaint  by  construct- 
ing another  little  parable.  Two  sheep  strayed 
from  one  fold.  They  wandered  different  dis- 
tances ;  one  went  a  single  mile,  the  other  three. 
But  the  one  that  went  a  single  mile  found  its 
way  into  a  very  pleasant  garden,  and,  while  it 
lingered  there,  the  gate  was  shut ;  the  other, 
which  had  wandered  farther,  remained  in  the 

VOL.  II.  H 


114  CHARACTERISTICS  OF 

free  uplands.  The  result  was  that  the  sheep 
which  had  strayed  three  miles  got  home 
sooner  than  that  which  had  wandered  only 
one. 

Behold  now  the  interpretation  of  this 
parable !  The  Gentile  was  farther  away  from 
Jesus  than  the  Jew.  But  the  Jew  had  a 
barrier  to  the  retracing  of  his  steps  which  the 
Gentile  had  not.  The  Gentile,  however  far 
away,  was  out  in  the  open.  But  the  Jew  had 
got  enclosed  in  a  garden.  It  was  a  garden, 
no  doubt,  of  many  beauties,  of  fine  fruits  and 
fair  flowers.  None  the  less  it  was  to  him  a 
prison  ;  it  prevented  his  steps  from  returning 
home.  This  was  to  Jesus  the  bane  of  Judaism  ; 
it  was  enclosed,  imprisoned.  No  doubt  its 
enclosure  was  a  bit  of  good  soil — far  better 
than  the  soil  where  the  Gentiles  lived.  But  the 
Gentiles  had  no  fence  to  their  ground  ;  they 
could  come  out  when  they  liked.  Not  only 
was  the  Jew  unable  to  come  out ;  he  could 
not  even  see  out.  He  had  many  virtues  •  but 
these  virtues  he  believed  to  be  perfection.  He 
saw  nothing  beyond  him,  no  need  for  anything 


THE  JERUSALEM  MINISTRY         115 

beyond  him.  He  had  started  life  with  a  small 
ideal — the  keeping  of  certain  police  regulations. 
And  now  he  hdid  fulfilled  h.\s  ideal.  He  stood 
above  his  own  stars.  He  had  nothing  more  to 
aspire  to.  Like  Alexander,  he  had  conquered 
his  world ;  unlike  Alexander,  he  wept  for  no 
other.  Looking  round  his  narrow  field  of 
duty,  he  could  say  with  perfect  sincerity,  '  All 
these  commandments  have  I  kept  from  my 
youth ;  what  lack  I  yet ! ' 

There  is  no  barrier  to  a  pupil  like  the  sense 
of  perfectness.  No  backwardness  in  education 
can  for  a  moment  match  it.  /  may  have 
written  tolerable  verses,  and  you  may  never 
have  written  one ;  and  yet  you  may  be  nearer 
to  the  spirit  of  poetry  than  I.  /  may  believe 
my  verses  to  be  perfection;  you  may  have 
been  deterred  from  writing  by  the  despair  of 
reaching  Tennyson  ;  you  may  have  beat  upon 
your  breast  and  cried  '  Unclean,  unclean  ! ' 
In  that  case  it  is  you,  and  not  I,  that  have 
gone  down  to  the  world  justified.  You  have 
been  farther  away  than  I  from  the  gate  of 
gold ;   but  your  eye  has  been  upon  the  gate. 


ii6  CHARACTERISTICS  OF 

/have  been  all  along  closer  to  the  gate;  but  I 
have  been  ever  looking,  not  in  front,  but  be- 
hind. My  view  has  been  the  retrospect,  and  it 
has  made  me  self-complacent ;  yours  has  been 
the  prospect,  and  it  has  brought  you  despair. 
Yet  the  despair  has  been  gold ;  the  com- 
placency has  been  only  brass.  You  have  come 
from  a  farther  distance,  but  you  have  reached 
sooner  home. 


OHOW  me  the  golden  gate,  O  Lord — the 
*^  perfection  which  I  have  yet  to  gain !  It 
is  not  my  sense  of  virtue  that  brings  me  nearer 
Thee ;  it  is  the  sense  that  virtue  is  wanting.  I 
often  go  to  compare  my  candle  with  the  wax- 
taper  of  my  brother,  and  come  back  rejoicing ; 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  bearing  a  light  of  perfect 
brightness.  Lead  me  and  my  candle  into  the 
sunshine^  O  Lord  !  Instead  of  measuring  that 
candle  by  my  brother's  taper,  let  me  poise  it 
against  the  noonday  sun — the  sun  of  righteous- 
ness !  My  laughter  will  be  turned  into  weep- 
ing ;  my  light  will  become  invisible.     Glorious 


THE  JERUSALEM  MINISTRY         117 

weeping  !  happy  tears !  Who  would  not  have 
the  rays  of  his  self-righteousness  revealed! 
Reveal  miney  Thou  true  Light  1  Burn  up  my 
self-complacency  with  Thy  judgment  fire ! 
Strike  me  dumb  before  the  whiteness  of  Thy 
purity !  Extinguish  my  torch  in  Thy  glory ! 
Expose  my  faded  colours  in  the  sunlight  of 
Thy  love !  My  depression  will  be  the  tears  of 
the  rainbow — the  shadow  of  the  house  of  my 
Father.  I  may  need  to  abandon  Jerusalem ; 
hut  I  shall  be  bound  for  Paradise. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH 

I  AM  now  coming  to  an  aspect  of  the  Portrait 
which  must  often  have  struck  the  artist- 
student.  I  have  already  pointed  out  an 
apparent  contradiction  in  the  artistic  arrange- 
ment of  the  life  of  Jesus.  I  have  shown  that, 
though  the  land  of  Galilee  was  the  land  of 
freedom,  the  freest  utterances  of  Jesus  were 
given  after  He  left  it.  I  must  now  direct 
attention  to  a  second  paradox.  Galilee  was 
not  only  the  land  of  freedom  ;  it  was  the  land 
of  home.  It  contained  the  home  of  Jesus  ;  it 
contained  the  homes  of  the  first  followers  of 
Jesus ;  it  contained  the  elements  of  home-life 
in  general.  Here  the  spirit  of  youth  was 
uncurbed  ;  here  the  instincts  of  the  heart  were 
unrepressed ;  here  the  fireside  was  more 
powerful  than  the  cloister.     And  yet,  the  fact 

U8 


THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH     119 

remains  that  it  is  not  in  Galilee  the  Portrait  of 
Jesus  assumes  its  most  domestic  aspect.  It  is 
precisely  when  the  home  influences  are  with- 
drawn that  the  life  of  Jesus  becomes  homely. 
The  Galilean  ministry  of  Jesus  might  have 
been  expected  to  favour  a  domestic  experience. 
It  was  not  carried  on  under  the  shadow  of 
another  world ;  death  was  not  foreseen  as  its 
inevitable  sequel.  It  was  transacted  amid  the 
joys  of  nature — with  the  lily  of  the  field  at  His 
feet,  with  the  bird  of  the  air  overhead,  with  the 
songs  of  the  reaper  in  His  ear.  And  yet,  it  is 
when  the  shadows  of  another  world  appear 
that  the  home-life  of  Jesus  seems  to  bloom. 
It  is  when  Jerusalem  opens  its  gates  to  Him,  it 
is  when  the  precipice  yawns  for  Him,  it  is 
when  death  becomes  imminent  to  Him,  that 
the  heart  of  Jesus  seems  to  fly  nearer  to  the 
earth.  At  the  very  moment  when  He  hears  a 
call  to  leave  the  world  He  bursts  upon  our 
view  in  the  attitude  of  one  to  whom  human 
ties  are  dear.  It  is  then  that  for  the  first  time 
He  breaks  upon  our  sight  as  a  man  of  the 
fireside,  a  man  of  the    home,   a   man  of  the 


I20  THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH 

domestic  circle — a  man  to  whom  the  inter- 
course of  earthly  friendship  is  intrinsically 
precious,  and  to  whom  the  hour  of  social 
fellowship  is,  for  its  own  sake,  dear. 

I  have  entitled  this  chapter  '  The  Altar  and 
the  Hearth '  to  describe  the  meeting  of  these 
seeming  contradictions.  The  Jerusalem  min- 
istry is  the  union  of  these  two  heterogeneous 
elements.  Jesus  is  at  once  the  man  of  the 
altar  and  the  man  of  the  hearth.  Let  me 
giance  at  each  of  the  extremes.  And  first,  He 
is  the  man  of  the  altar.  He  is  standing  face  to 
face  with  death.  I  have  shown  in  the  previous 
chapter  the  cause  of  His  danger.  He  had 
claimed  a  wider  origin  than  the  stock  of 
Abraham — a  special  origin  from  the  universal 
Father.  That,  on  the  lips  of  a  Jewish  Messiah, 
was  in  the  eyes  of  Israel  equivalent  to  high 
treason.  It  was  tantamount  to  sweeping  away 
the  line  of  David.  It  was  the  assertion  that 
the  Jew's  Messiah  was  everybody's  Messiah. 
It  was  a  claim  which  stripped  Jerusalem  of  its 
pre-eminence,  which  robbed  Palestine  of  its 
peculiarity.     It  threatened  to  do  for  the  Jewish 


THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH     i2i 

nation  what  the  doctrine  of  modern  astronomy 
has  done  for  the  united  earth ;  it  made  it  an 
atom  in  the  mass.  It  said  to  the  land  of 
Israel :  *  You  need  not  be  proud  of  your  privi- 
lege. Your  privilege  is  simply  to  have  had 
the  first  revelation  of  a  birthright  which  be- 
longs to  every  one  as  well  as  you.  The  Gentile 
also  can  trace  his  origin  to  your  Messiah.  You 
may  shut  him  out  from  the  line  of  David,  you 
may  shut  him  out  from  the  line  of  Abraham ; 
but  he  can  claim  his  descent  by  another  stair. 
It  has  been  discovered  that  your  Messiah  is 
sprung  from  a  higher  life,  derived  from  an 
earlier  parentage,  begotten  of  that  universal 
Father  who  is  outside  all  national  lines.  Your 
wall  of  separation  has  therefore  no  meaning, 
your  fence  no  significance,  your  genealogy  no 
triumph.  The  Gentiles  need  not  come  to  the 
Messiah  through  you ;  they  can  approach  Him 
through  their  own  door.' 

There,  to  my  mind,  lay  the  imminence  of 
death.  The  danger  to  the  life  of  Jesus  was 
not  the  mystic  character  of  His  Jerusalem 
speeches ;  it  was  their  political  character.    The 


122  THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH 

Jews  might  not  have  been  able  to  understand 
what  was  meant  by  Christ's  descent  from 
heaven,  but  they  could  all  understand  what 
was  implied  in  it.  The  philosophy  might  tax 
their  brain  ;  the  politics  did  not.  They  knew 
very  well  that  if  their  Messiah  came  from 
heaven  He  was  not  really  theirs — the  pitcher 
was  broken  at  the  fountain,  the  line  of  David 
was  superseded.  The  precepts  of  Galilee  had 
involved  no  politics ;  the  parables  of  Galilee 
had  involved  no  politics ;  but  the  transcen- 
dental discourses  at  Jerusalem  smote  the 
ground.  They  shook  the  common  earth  ;  they 
raised  a  political  ferment.  And  Jesus  knew  it. 
He  was  quite  conscious  of  the  gathering  storm. 
He  perceived  His  danger  and  the  cause  of  His 
danger.  He  felt  that  words  like  His,  falling 
on  the  ears  of  the  Jewish  nation,  could  bring 
only  a  thirst  for  His  blood.  Death  was  staring 
Him  in  the  face.  How  did  He  regard  it?  what 
did  He  feel  about  it  ?  Have  we  any  clock  to 
mark  the  time  of  day  ?  Have  we  any  record 
of  His  experience  at  this  special  hour?  Are 
we  bound  to  imagine,  to  reason,  to  infer  ?     Is 


THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH     123 

there  no  chart  which  can  indicate  that  stage  of 
the  mind  of  Jesus  at  which  we  have  now 
arrived,  and  tell  us  the  precise  spot  on  which 
our  feet  are  standing  ? 

There  is.  We  have  no  need  to  ponder 
possibilities.  There  is  extant  a  document  of 
the  day  and  hour — a  document  derived  from 
the  very  lips  of  Jesus.  It  is  the  parable  of  the 
good  shepherd.  To  me  the  interest  of  that 
parable  is  the  date  of  its  utterance.  It  is  the 
first  direct  record  I  have  of  the  thoughts  of 
Jesus  under  the  shadow  of  death.  I  do  not 
think  it  is  His  completed  thought.  Gethsemanc 
is  not  yet  reached  ;  if  this  were  His  completed 
thought  there  would  be  no  room  for  Gethsemane. 
If  you  want  to  preserve  the  consistency  of  the 
life  of  Jesus,  you  must  reserve  for  the  Garden 
a  margin  for  uncertainty  about  death.  There 
was  one  feature  in  death  which  was  very 
dark  to  Jesus — which  remained  dark  until 
Gethsemane.  He  could  only  die,  as  I  have 
said,  through  the  culmination  of  the  world's 
sin.  What  He  feared  from  death  was  an 
interference  with  His  own  work  of  expiation 


124  THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH 

— the  raising  of  a  barrier  to  the  Father's  re- 
conciliation with  Man.  When  He  spoke  the 
parable  of  the  good  shepherd,  He  had  still  that 
fear.  Death  was  not  dear  to  Him.  Nobody 
can  read  the  parable  without  seeing  that  He 
deemed  the  facing  of  it  a  brave  thing.  It  is 
stigmatised  as  'the  wolf — as  a  power  in  the 
way  of  the  sheep — a  power  so  dreadful  that 
a  hireling  shepherd  will  not  meet  it.  This  is 
not  the  language  of  endearment,  nor  even  oi 
vanquished  loathing ;  it  is  the  language  of 
strong  repulsion.  But  none  the  less,  nay,  all 
the  more,  is  Jesus  determined  not  to  avoid 
death.  He  feels  that  the  mark  of  a  good 
shepherd  is  to  lead  the  sheep  even  though 
death  does  lie  in  the  path.  That  is  His 
position  in  the  parable.  He  is  not  seeking 
the  wolf,  does  not  personally  desire  to  en- 
counter it ;  but  He  is  convinced  that  the 
path  on  which  He  is  leading  the  sheep  is 
the  only  path  on  which  they  can  continue  to 
live,  the  only  one  where  they  will  have  a 
chance  of  food.  For  that  chance  He  will 
brave  death.     He  has  proclaimed  Himself  the 


'    THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH     125 

Messiah  of  the  united  world ;  that  is  the  only 
path  on  which  the  sheep  can  breathe;  their 
one  hope  of  Hfe  is  there.  He  will  not  desert 
them  ;  He  will  not  leave  them.  Let  the  wolf 
come,  let  death  come,  let  all  imaginable  horrors 
come — He  will  stand  at  the  post  of  duty  and 
the  post  of  danger ! 

That  is  one  side  of  the  Jerusalem  ministry — 
its  altar  of  sacrifice.  Jesus  is  preparing  for 
His  hour — the  hour  of  death.  And  yet,  side 
by  side  with  this  picture,  there  is  another  and 
a  seemingly  opposite  one — the  picture  of  the 
hearth.  At  the  very  hour  when  this  world  was 
fading  from  the  eyes  of  Jesus,  He  was  entering 
deepest  into  its  innermost  circle — its  domestic 
circle.  The  moment  when  the  clock  was  on 
the  stroke  of  eternity  was  the  moment  when 
He  began  to  interest  Himself  in  the  minutia; 
of  time.  To  the  south-east  of  the  Mount  of 
Olives  there  lies  a  little  village  called  Bethany. 
It  was  but  two  miles  from  Jerusalem ;  and 
from  Jerusalem  at  the  close  of  the  day  Jesus 
often  bent  His  steps  thither.  He  had  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  leading  famiW  there — 


126  THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH 

a  brother  and  two  sisters.  In  their  companion- 
ship He  had  found  what  I  may  call  a  purely 
secular  joy.  He  experienced,  perhaps  for  the 
first  time  since  childhood,  a  delight  which  was 
not  Messianic,  not  official,  not  connected  with 
another  world,  but  purely  natural,  present, 
human.  He  felt  in  their  society  the  joy  of 
life  for  its  own  sake,  the  inherent  gladness 
of  the  earth,  the  native  glory  of  the  flower  of 
friendship.  Such  was  the  strange  anomaly 
which  strode  side  by  side  with  the  approach 
of  Jesus  toward  the  sepulchre ;  it  was  like 
the  sound  of  dance-music  amid  the  dirge  of 
death. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  speak  there  is  a 
curious  illustration  of  this  lighter  phase.  It 
is  an  episode  recorded  by  St.  Luke,  and, 
as  I  think,  greatly  spoiled  by  our  common 
translation.  We  make  it  read  as  something 
dreadfully  solemn.  The  testimony  of  some 
of  the  best  and  earliest  MSS.,  coupled  with  a 
view  of  the  circumstances  in  the  light  of 
common  sense,  has  led  me  to  regard  it,  not  as  a 
warning  to  sinners,  but  as  a  wholesome  advice 


THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH     127 

to  hostesses,  conveyed  rather  with  a  smile  than 
with  a  frown.     Let  us  look  at  the  incident. 

Jesus  has  just  gone  out  to  Bethany  to  visit 
the  favourite  household.  He  finds  that  house- 
hold in  bustle.  The  sisters  are  getting  up  an 
entertainment  on  His  account ;  but  they  are 
not  equally  engrossed  in  the  preparation. 
Mary  talks  and  listens  to  Jesus ;  Martha 
is  'distracted  in  her  attention'  through 
arranging  the  many  courses  for  the  coming 
guests.  If  the  discourse  of  Jesus  was  marred 
to  Martha  by  the  preparation  of  the  meal,  the 
preparation  of  the  meal  equally  suffered  from 
the  discourse  of  Jesus.  She  feels  hampered 
by  the  divided  attention.  She  grows  irritable, 
and  she  vents  her  irritation  promiscuously: 
'  Lord,  carest  thou  not  that  my  sister  hath  left 
me  to  serve  alone ! '  Remember,  if  she  was 
petulant,  she  was  petulant  in  Christ's  interest ; 
if  she  was  cumbered  with  much  serving,  she 
was  cumbered  for  Him.  Her  error  was  not, 
as  our  version  implies,  that  she  was  in  need 
of  the  secret  of  eternal  life.  She  loved  Jesus ; 
she  was  loved  by  Jesus :  where  was  her  need ! 


128    THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH 

The  truth  is,  even  in  her  moment  of  petulance, 
Jesus  was  not  thinking  of  the  need  of  Martha 
but  of  the  need  of  the  guests.  She  was  afraid 
His  interests  might  be  hurt  by  a  social  fiasco. 
He  reassures  her.  Let  us  paraphrase  His 
words. 

'  Martha,  you  are  anxious  about  a  choice  of 
varieties.  Why  should  you?  Hospitality 
requires  not  such.  Few  things  are  needful  to 
hospitality .1  Your  sister,  Mary,  has  chosen 
one  of  these.  You  think  she  has  contributed 
nothing  to  the  feast ;  she  has — the  good  part, 
the  inconsumable  part.  The  very  fragments 
of  this  feast  will  be  as  if  they  had  never 
been.  But  she  who  has  gazed  beforehand 
into  the  face  of  love,  she  w)io  has  entered 
beforehand  into  the  spirit  of  unselfish  rest, 
she  who  has  learned  beforehand  to  look  at  the 
world  in  the  light  of  a  coming  glory,  will 
communicate  to  the  banquet  a  sweetness  and 
a  strength  which  will  not  pass  away.' 

And    all    this   wholesome    recipe    for    the 

^  According  to  many  of  the  best  MSS.  this  is  the  real  read- 
ing for  the  words  of  our  version,  '  One  thing  is  needful.' 


THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH     129 

warminff  of  the  natural  hearth  is  given  under 
the  shadow  of  the  altar  of  death  !  Is  there  any 
reconciliation  of  these  extremes?  Is  there 
any  point  in  the  mind  of  Jesus  where  these  two 
ideas  meet?  There  is.  Call  to  mind  what 
it  was  which  exposed  Jesus  to  the  danger  of 
death.  Was  it  not  simply  His  defence  of  the 
rights  of  man  as  man  ?  And  where  shall  we 
find  man  as  man — man  unconventional  in  his 
thinking,  man  spontaneous  in  his  acting?  Is 
it  not  at  the  hearth,  by  the  fireside?  Does 
not  the  household  at  Bethany  represent  the 
very  opposite  phase  of  humanity  to  that  re- 
presented by  the  temple  at  Jerusalem  ?  Does 
it  not  stand  for  man  in  his  freedom,  in  his 
universality?  Does  it  not  figure  as  the  em- 
bodiment of  the  natural  instincts,  of  the 
primitive  impulses  of  the  heart  ?  Does  it  not 
represent  that  which  is  earlier  than  creed, 
previous  to  custom,  existent  before  conven- 
tion? The  thing  dearest  to  the  heart  of 
Jesus  at  this  moment  was  the  proclamation 
of  a  universal  gospel,  a  gospel  which  should 
leap  the  Jewish  barriers  and  fall  upon  the 
VOL.  II.  I 


I30    THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH 

fields  of  primitive  nature.  And  where  could 
He  find  so  fine  a  field  as  just  within  the  circle 
of  the  home,  just  within  that  region  of  human 
sorrow  and  human  mirth  where  the  natural 
passions  play  and  the  native  tendencies  are 
unsuppressed !  The  union  of  the  altar  and 
the  hearth  is  no  contradiction  in  the  life  of 
Jesus ;  it  was  for  the  sake  of  the  hearth  that 
He  braved  the  altar.  Bethany  was  not  the 
antithesis  to  Calvary ;  it  was  the  motive  to 
Calvary.  He  was  braving  death  in  the  interest 
of  the  universal  joy ;  is  it  wonderful  that  on 
His  road  to  the  Dolorous  Way  He  should 
have  paused  betimes  to  contemplate  that  joy ! 
Is  it  strange  that  on  His  path  to  the  altar  He 
should  have  lingered  a  while  by  the  hearth  ! 


IV  /r  Y  soul,  keep  together  the  altar  and  the 
-^'^-*-  hearth !  Nothing  helpr  thy  hospi- 
tality like  self-forgetfulness.  Wouldst  thou  be 
a  hospitable  host  at  thine  own  board?  then 
must  thou  begin  by  being  crucified.  No  man 
is  alive  to  the  wants  of  others  until  he  is  dead 


THE  ALTAR  AND  THE  HEARTH     131 

to  his  own.  I  have  often  heard  inhospitality 
referred  to  thoughtlessness.  Nay,  it  is  not 
thoughtlessness ;  it  is  too  much  thought  in  a 
single  direction — the  direction  of  self.  Wouldst 
thou  furnish  adequately  the  table  of  Bethany? 
Wouldst  thou  make  it  a  pleasant  feast,  a 
happy  night,  a  meeting  that  will  leave  no 
taste  of  bitterness  ?  Come,  then,  and  sit  first 
at  the  feet  of  Jesus  !  Come,  and  fill  thy  heart 
beforehand  with  thoughts  of  beauty !  Come, 
and  empty  thy  spirit  of  its  pride  !  Come,  and 
disburden  thy  mind  of  its  care!  Come,  and 
crucify  thy  memories  of  discontent,  thy  regrets 
for  what  is  not  and  yet  might  have  been ! 
Come,  above  all,  and  be  filled  with  a  larger 
love — the  love  for  humanity  itself,  the  hope  for 
thy  brother-man  !  So  shalt  thou  contribute  to 
the  feast  something  which  will  be  imperishable 
— a  light  and  a  music  that  will  survive  the 
social  hour ;  thy  contribution  will  be  that  good 
part  which  will  not  pass  away. 


CHAPTER    X 

THE  ATTEMPT   TO   ANTEDATE   CALVARY 

Meantime  the  storm  was  deepening  in  the 
City  of  David.  From  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles 
to  the  Feast  of  Dedication  it  raged  ever  in- 
creasingly. Precisely  as  the  teaching  of  Jesus 
became  more  transcendental,  it  struck  nearer 
home.  We  have  seen  that  a  Messiah  with 
an  origin  above  the  earth  was  for  the  Jew 
a  political  heresy.  We  have  seen  that  to 
hold  such  a  creed  was  to  deny  the  exclusive 
privilege  of  the  line  of  David — that  it  was  to 
open  another  line,  accessible  indeed  to  Israel, 
but  accessible  also  to  all  besides.  From  the 
Jewish  point  of  view  I  do  not  wonder  at  the 
storm.  The  nearest  parallel  I  can  imagine 
to  the  circumstances  of  the  nation  is  the  first 
announcement  to  the  modern  world  of  the 
doctrine  of  evolution.  Man,  particularly  re- 
us 


ATTEMPT  TO  ANTEDATE  CALVARY  133 

ligious  man,  was  alarmed  for  his  own  dignity. 
His  dignity  had,  to  him,  always  lain  in  his  speci- 
ality— in  the  belief  that  he  had  been  separately 
created.  The  sting  of  evolution  was  not  that 
it  denied  his  Divine  origin;  it  was  that  it 
denied  his  special  Divine  origin — that,  so  far 
as  origin  is  concerned,  it  gave  him  no  ad- 
vantage over  the  beast  of  the  field.  Change 
the  names  of  the  actors,  and  the  problem  was 
the  same.  Jesus  proclaimed  the  unity  of  species 
between  the  Jew  and  the  Gentile.  The  Gentile 
had  always  been  looked  upon  as  the  beast  of 
the  field.  The  Jew  stormed  at  the  imputation 
of  a  common  origin.  It  was  no  compensation 
to  be  told  that  it  involved  a  common  salva- 
tion. He  did  not  want  a  common  salvation. 
I  believe  he  would  have  greatly  preferred  an 
««common  retribution^  provided  it  had  marked 
him  out  as  a  scion  of  the  original  stock. 
Christianity  was  to  him  what  Darwinism  is  to 
us — the  assertion  of  a  unity  of  species  between 
two  streams  of  life  which  were  flowing  in 
different  directions  and  which  had  hitherto  been 
thought  to  have  come  from  separate  sources. 


134  THE  ATTEMPT  TO 

From  Feast  to  Feast  swelled  the  storm.  At 
last,  on  Dedication  Day,  it  burst  into  a  roar. 
The  adversaries  of  Jesus,  who  had  passed  from 
murmurs  to  arguments  and  from  arguments  to 
invectives,  now  went  a  step  beyond.  They  had 
kept  their  best  wine  to  the  last.  The  force  of 
reason  had  failed,  the  force  of  obloquy  had 
failed ;  physical  force  remained.  They  began 
to  gather  stones  from  the  causeway.  They 
said  :  '  Let  this  man  have  the  fate  we  proposed 
for  the  unchaste  woman !  It  is  the  legal 
punishment  for  unchastity ;  and  has  not  he 
also  been  guilty  of  unchastity !  Have  not  the 
prophets  called  God  the  husband  of  Israel ! 
Here  is  the  would-be  Messiah  of  Israel  pro- 
fessing to  annul  the  union,  claiming  for  every 
land  a  like  participation  in  the  nuptial  torch 
of  God !  Is  not  this  the  teaching  of  un- 
chastity !  Shall  the  Messiah  of  our  race  tell 
His  country  to  break  its  marriage  vows,  to 
deny  its  marriage  vows !  If  He  give  such  a 
message  to  His  country,  shall  He  be  allowed 
to  escape  with  impunity!  We  see  now  the 
reason  of  this  man's  laxness  with  the  woman 


ANTEDATE  CALVARY  135 

of  sin.  This  man  is  all  round  unfaithful  to 
the  hymeneal  altar  of  his  nation.  He  has 
tried  to  deprive  that  nation  of  her  marriage 
ring — the  ring  which  selected  her  from  all 
others  to  be  the  Bride  of  God.  What  shall 
be  the  penalty  of  this  infidelity,  this  un- 
chastity,  this  incitation  to  religious  apostasy? 
Shall  it  be  any  other  than  the  adulterer's 
doom,  the  doom  of  those  who  rend  the  nuptial 
veil ! ' 

And  now  in  the  great  gallery  there  is  ex- 
hibited a  tragic  spectacle,  a  spectacle  which 
only  once  or  twice  has  met  the  gaze  of  history  : 
pure  spirit  meets  face  to  face  with  brute  force, 
and  conquers  it.  In  the  centre  of  an  infuriated 
crowd,  with  bitter  hatred  in  their  heart  and 
with  deadly  missiles  in  their  hand,  stands  a 
single,  unarmed,  defenceless  man.  Mind  and 
matter  were  never  so  completely  poised  against 
each  other.  Not  even  in  the  storm  on  the 
Sea  of  Galilee  were  they  so  poised.  There, 
the  physical  forces  were  unconscious  of  their 
antagonist ;  here,  they  were  directed  right 
against  the  breast  of  Jesus.      It  was  a  duel 


136  THE  ATTEMPT  TO 

between  materialism  and  spiritualism,  in  which 
both  recognised  the  issue,  in  which  neither 
borrowed  a  weapon  from  his  adversary.  And 
spirit  conquered.  Why  did  the  crowd  not 
throw  the  stones  they  had  gathered  ?  They 
had  physically  everything  in  their  favour. 
They  were  a  hundred  to  one.  They  had  no 
outward  opposition.  They  were  backed  by 
the  government.  The  missiles  were  actually 
in  their  hands.  Why  did  they  not  throw? 
Why  did  they  not  there  and  then  anticipate 
the  Cross  of  Calvary  ?  I  answer,  because 
they  were  here  asked  to  do  what  the  Cross 
of  Calvary  never  asked  them  to  do — to  kill 
Jesus  face  to  face.  The  Jew  had  never  been 
able  to  do  that — not  in  the  courts  of  the 
temple,  not  on  the  brow  of  the  Capernaum 
hill;  nor  was  he  now  able.  There  must  have 
been  a  matchless  power,  a  mesmeric  power, 
even  in  the  dumb  presence  of  Jesus — a  power 
which  paralysed  the  opposing  arm,  arrested 
the  uplifted  hand,  broke  the  sword  before  it 
fell.  For  a  few  minutes  pure  spirit  and  brute 
force  faced  one  another.      The  crowd  swung 


ANTEDATE  CALVARY  137 

their  arms  aloft  to  cast  the  fatal  missiles  ; 
suddenly  the  missiles  dropped,  the  arms 
dropped,  the  menacing  throng  fell  back,  the 
concourse  seemed  to  vanish  into  air,  and  on 
the  bloodless  field  Jesus  stood  victor,  alone. 

What  did  Jesus  think  about  this  ?  It 
may  seem  a  wild  question,  and  yet  in  the 
event  that  follows  I  think  we  have  the 
materials  for  answering  it.  Of  course  Jesus 
knew  that  the  averted  issue  was  a  mere  post- 
ponement. Yet  I  am  convinced  by  what 
follows  that  He  was  glad  of  the  postponement. 
I  am  not  alluding  to  that  sting  which  death 
still  had  for  Him  personally,  the  sting  of  the 
world's  sin  ;  that  would  have  led  Him  to  seek, 
did  lead  Him  to  seek,  not  postponement,  but 
the  passing  of  the  cup  altogether.  If  death 
were  to  come  to  Him  at  all,  I  believe  that 
personally  He  would  have  preferred  it  early  ; 
it  would  leave  Him  free  to  begin  His  resurrec- 
tion kingdom.  But  it  was  not  for  His  own 
sake  Jesus  desired  postponement ;  it  was  for 
the  sake  of  His  disciples.  They  too  felt  His 
death  to  be  a  sting.     It  is  true,  their  sting  was 


138  THE  ATTEMPT  TO 

not  His.  Jesus  feared  one  thing  from  death,  His 
disciples  feared  another.  His  dread  was  moral, 
theirs  was  physical.  But  just  on  that  account 
Jesus  could  help  His  disciples.  He  was  strong 
precisely  where  they  were  weak — in  the  hope  of 
resurrection.  And  they  were  very  weak  there. 
I  believe,  if  the  Day  of  Dedication  had  fore- 
stalled the  tragedy  of  the  Passover,  every 
fragment  of  Christ's  first  kingdom  would  have 
melted  like  the  snow ;  the  boldest  of  the 
original  band  would  have  fled,  to  return  no 
more.  It  was  for  their  sakes  Jesus  desired 
more  time.  He  wanted  to  show  them  the 
brightness  of  death  where  He  saw  it — the 
brightness  beyond  death.  Here  at  least  was  a 
patch  of  blue,  on  which  He  might  teach  them 
to  gaze.  They  could  not  meet  His  cross,  but 
He  could  meet  theirs.  He  had  still  His  own 
darkness ;  but  where  they  were  dark,  He  was 
clear.  It  was  a  blessed  division  of  pain  ;  it 
left  Him  free  to  be  the  Helper  of  Man. 

And  here  I  think  Jesus  made  an  inward 
resolve,  that  henceforth  His  teaching  should  be 
more  of  heaven  than  of  earth.     He  said, '  From 


ANTEDATE  CALVARY  139 

this  time  forth  I  will  tell  my  disciples  of  the 
life  beyond!  Do  you  ask,  '  Why  so  late  in  the 
revealing  of  a  truth  so  precious  ? '  I  answer, 
it  is  to  me  no  wonder.  I  would  not  have  any 
teacher  of  religion  begin  with  the  Doctrine  of 
Immortalfty.  Before  you  tell  your  pupil  to 
hope  for  an  indefinite  prolongation  of  life,  be 
sure  you  find  out  what  he  is  now  living  for.  It 
is  not  good  to  hope  for  the  prolonging  of  a  bad 
ideal ;  I  should  say  that  the  sooner  a  Moham- 
medan gets  rid  of  his  hope  of  immortality  the 
better.  Jesus  came  to  men  who  had  a  bad 
ideal ;  therefore  He  did  not  begin  by  telling 
them  of  immortality.  He  wanted  them,  first 
of  all,  to  desire  the  things  in  life  which  are 
beautiful,  glorious.  And  so  He  taught  them, 
at  first,  to  love  that  which  was  lovely — lovely 
now,  lovely  here.  He  took  them  up  to  the 
mount  and  showed  them,  not  the  Promised 
Land,  but  the  present  land — its  features  of 
beauty,  its  possibilities  of  blessing.  But  now 
the  time  had  come  in  which  they  ought  to 
learn  that  the  present  beauty  is  an  eternal 
beauty.     As  long  as  they  loved  ugliness,  Jesus 


I40  THE  ATTEMPT  TO 

would  not  teach  them  immortality.  But  they 
had  come  to  love  Himself;  they  had  fixed  their 
eyes  on  His  Divinely  human  glory.  Would  not 
the  vision  of  immortality  have  a  meaning  now ! 
Would  it  not  mean  the  immortality  of  good- 
ness, the  deathlessness  of  purity,  the  eternity 
of  love !  Jesus  said,  'I  will  point  them  beyond.' 
But  where  point  from  ?  Not  from  Jerusalem, 
not  from  the  scene  where  the  implements  of 
death  were  visible.  No,  Jesus  felt  that  here 
the  minds  of  His  followers  were  in  trepidation  ; 
and  trepidation  is  the  foe  to  revelation.  He 
felt  that  for  the  moment,  and  for  their  sake.  He 
wanted  a  change  of  environment.  He  resolved 
to  withdraw  their  eyes  from  the  winding-sheet 
which  the  metropolis  was  preparing.  He  would 
still  make  Jerusalem  His  headquarters ;  but, 
using  it  as  a  base.  He  would  go  forth  on  circuit. 
He  would  lead  His  trembling  followers  into 
scenes  more  lively  and  more  free.  He  would 
tell  them  of  immortality,  but  not  under  the 
dome  of  death  ;  He  would  point  them  to  a  life 
beyond,  but  not  within  the  shadow  of  the 
grave.      His   revelation   of  the   future   should 


ANTEDATE  CALVARY  141 

be  made  to  marching  music,  not  on  the  field 
ot  carnage. 

And  here  it  is  that  I  place  the  final  circuit 
of  Jesus — not  a  few  weeks  earlier,  as  many 
harmonists  do.  Here  it  is  that  He  breaks  up 
His  camp  at  Jerusalem  and  again  takes  the 
field.  He  leads  His  disciples  into  Peraea,  He 
passes  with  them  into  Galilee,  the  scene  of 
His  former  ministry.  His  tour  seems  to  have 
been  planned  on  the  idea  of  mental  retrospect 
Each  step  of  the  journey  carries  Him  farther 
back — nearer  to  the  beginning.  From  Galilee 
He  revisits  Samaria.  You  will  remember  how 
Samaria  had  preceded  Galilee — how  He  woke 
to  human  wants  by  the  thirsting  at  the  well. 
Farther  back  still  He  travels  on  the  line  of 
retrospect.  He  comes  to  the  very  beginning 
of  His  public  life — to  the  east  coast  of  Jordan. 
He  stands  in  the  scene  of  the  Baptist's  ministry 
— where  the  heavens  had  opened,  where  the 
dove  had  descended,  where  the  approbation 
of  the  Father  had  gleamed.  He  stands  in  the 
spot  immediately  antecedent  to  the  scene  of 
His  own  temptation,  and  through  whose  in- 


142  THE  ATTEMPT  TO 

fluence  He  had  vanquished  it.  Who  says  that 
His  motive  for  seeking  that  seclusion  was 
flight !  One  desirous  of  flight  would  not  have 
gone  there.  The  spot  was  not  secluded  to 
Him.  It  was  full  of  memories,  full  of  resolves, 
full  of  determinations  not  to  flee.  He  tnay 
have  gone  to  brace.  Himself;  He  never  went  to 
hide  Himself.  If  the  idea  of  security  entered, 
it  was  for  the  sake  of  His  disciples.  He 
wanted  them  to  feel  secure.  He  wanted  to 
lift  their  thoughts  beyond  the  earth;  and 
such  cannot  be  done  while  the  cerements  of 
the  grave  are  visible.  He  felt  that  the  souls 
of  that  little  band,  which  to  Him  represented 
united  humanity,  could  only  be  made  to  soar 
by  being  first  made  to  lie  down  in  green 
pastures ;  therefore  He  chose  for  them  the 
seclusion  of  Bethania. 

And,  indeed,  all  through  this  journey  the 
teaching  of  Jesus  is  the  teaching  of  immortality. 
Through  all  His  parables  of  this  time  there 
runs  one  refrain,  *  Earth  not  sufficient  without 
heaven.'  The  prodigal  has  spent  all  his 
substance  in  riotous  living.     Earth  can  do  no 


ANTEDATE  CALVARY  143 

more  for  him ;  his  only  hope  is  a  home 
beyond.  The  unjust  steward  in  the  very 
midst  of  his  gains  has  a  sense  of  accountabih'ty 
which  makes  him  feel  insecure,  which  causes 
him  to  cry  out  for  'everlasting  habitations.' 
The  labourers  in  the  vineyard  who  are  hired 
at  the  eleventh  hour  have  no  time  to  finish 
their  work  ;  they  must  look  for  another  life 
to  complete  it.  The  beggar  at  the  rich  man's 
gate  has  had  nothing  but  want  below;  his 
life  would  not  be  rounded  without  a  rest  in 
the  Paradise  of  God.  These  are  the  echoes 
of  the  time — the  only  echoes  that  will  suit 
the  time.  Jesus  is  bent  on  revealing  to  His 
disciples  a  hope  beyond.  Every  step  of  His 
after-course  is  guided  by  that  design  ;  if  you 
do  not  keep  this  in  mind,  much  of  what 
follows  will  seem  strange.  Especially  strange 
will  seem  the  attitude  of  Jesus  towards  an 
event  which  was  even  now  at  the  door,  and 
whose  entrance  has  gilded  with  a  unique 
glory  the  sunset  of  Christ's  work  on  earth. 
The  nature  of  this  scene  in  the  great  gallery 
will  be  considered  in  the  next  chapter. 


144  THE  ATTEMPT  TO 

TV  T  EANTIME,  O  Lord,  I  thank  Thee  for 
■'-  postponing   my  hope  of  immortality. 

I  thank  Thee  that  when  I  was  living  for  selfish- 
ness, Thou  didst  not  suffer  me  to  think  that 
selfishness  was  eternal.  I  thank  Thee  that, 
ere  I  could  hope  for  endless  life,  I  first  had 
something  worth  living  for — the  vision  of  Thy- 
self It  would  be  no  glory  to  believe  in  the 
immortality  of  sin  ;  the  saint  would  be  the  man 
who  wished  it  were  not  true.  But  now  that 
I  have  seen  Thee^  it  becomes  saintly  to  believe 
in  immortality.  It  is  saintly  to  wish  that  I 
may  enjoy  Thee  for  ever.  Men  say  it  is  my 
selfishness  that  makes  me  wish  to  be  immortal. 
Nay,  it  is  my  ^^selfishness.  It  is  because  I 
want  eternally  to  love  that  which  is  lovely — 
eternally  to  love  TJiec.  Why  is  it  that  the 
tidings  of  Olivet,  the  tidings  of  Thy  rising, 
have  been  so  dear  to  me?  It  is  because  Thou 
art  love,  and  Thine  immortality  is  the  immor- 
tality of  love.  It  is  because  Thy  deathlessness 
is  the  deathlessness  of  all  beauty,  the  perma- 
nence of  all  purity,  the  fadelessness  of  all  true 
flowers.     There  is  no  joy  in  mere  everlasting- 


ANTEDATE  CALVARY  145 

ness.  It  would  not  make  me  glad  to  know 
that  the  bit  of  rag  at  my  foot  would  be  a  rag 
for  ever.  But  to  know  that  love  is  everlasting, 
that  peace  is  everlasting,  that  friendship  is 
everlasting,  that  sacrifice  is  everlasting,  that 
Thou  art  everlasting — this  is  the  saint's  im- 
mortality, this  is  the  saint's  rest ! 


VOL.  IT. 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE   UNIQUE   FEATURE   OF   THE   CASE  OF 
LAZARUS 

I  HAVE  now  come  to  that  scene  in  the  great 
gallery  which,  as  I  have  said,  has  given  a 
unique  expression  to  the  face  of  Jesus  at  sun- 
set. Remember,  I  have  no  record  of  the  scene 
but  that  of  the  gallery.  I  am  here  to  study 
what  is  painted.  I  have  wo  right  to  paint  a 
new  Christ ;  I  have  no  right  even  to  re-touch 
She  Portrait ;  my  position  is  that  of  an  observer 
and  a  recorder.  What,  then,  is  the  unique 
feature  of  this  coming  scene?  It  will  best 
appear  by  telling  the  story. 

On  the  secluded  coast  of  Judea-beyond- 
Jordan,  Jesus,  as  we  have  seen,  has  been  sing- 
ing one  refrain,  '  Earth  not  sufficient  without 
heaven.'  He  has  been  teaching  His  disciples 
that  immortality  is  necessary  to  vindicate  the 

146 


THE  CASE  OF  LAZARUS  147 

glory  of  God.  Let  us  bear  that  in  mind  before 
going  a  step  further ;  it  will  make  the  further 
step  clearer.  Suddenly  there  comes  to  Him  a 
message  from  the  outside — from  a  spot  very 
near  the  place  of  danger.  It  is  from  Bethany 
— from  the  home  of  Martha  and  Mary.  How- 
ever secluded  Jesus  may  have  been,  He  was 
not  secluded  from  them ;  He  had  left  them  His 
address  ;  they  knew  where  to  find  Him.  The 
present  message  of  the  sisters  is  a  very  sad 
one,  '  Lord,  he  whom  Thou  lovest  is  sick.'  The 
reference  is  to  their  brother  Lazarus.  They 
offer  no  prayer ;  they  make  no  request ;  they 
simply  bring  a  fact  before  the  eye  of  Jesus, 
and  leave  it  there. 

What  does  Jesus  do  under  these  circum- 
stances? Does  He  hasten  to  the  bedside  of 
him  whom  He  called  His  friend  ?  *  No,'  says 
the  Picture,  *  He  continues  two  days  more  in 
the  place  of  His  seclusion.'  '  Why  ?' asks  the 
spectator.  In  soliloquy,  Jesus  Himself  answers 
the  question,  '  This  sickness  is  for  the  glory  of 
God.'  I  interpret  the  answer  thus :  *  I  have 
been  teaching  my  disciples  that  the  glory  of 


148         THE  UNIQUE  FEATURE  OF 

God  can  only  be  vindicated  on  the  supposition 
that  there  is  a  life  beyond  this  life.  I  have 
been  teaching  in  parable  how  the  beggar 
Lazarus  needs  a  world  beyond  to  compensate 
for  his  wants  on  earth.  But  here  my  Father 
has  sent  me  a  real  Lazarus  to  make  the  subject 
of  my  parable.  They  ask  me  to  go  and  heal 
him ;  I  can  do  more  good  by  remaining. 
What  my  Father  needs  for  His  glory  is  the 
revelation  of  immortality  to  man.  Hitherto  I 
have  only  taught  that  death  does  not  end 
all;  might  I  not  prove  it?  If  Lazarus  be 
left  to  nature  he  will  die ;  I  see  this  as  I  saw 
Nathanael  under  the  fig-tree.  Why  should  I 
arrest  the  course  of  nature  ?  Should  I  not  gain 
more  for  my  Father  by  letting  nature  have  her 
course  ?  To  vanquish  sickness  would  not  prove 
immortality  ;  to  vanquish  death,  would.  Has 
not  the  Father  sent  this  event  as  the  sequel  of 
my  teaching  here?  Is  He  not  calling  me  to 
vindicate  His  glory  by  a  protest  in  love's  own 
sphere  against  the  arrest  of  love — by  a  proof 
that  further  life  lies  behind  death  ? ' 

This  is  the  reading  I  derive  from  the  gallery. 


THE  CASE  OF  LAZARUS  149 

You  will  observe  the  point  of  contrast  between 
this  picture  and  the  similar  picture  of  Jairus's 
daughter.  In  both  there  is  a  delay  of  the 
expected  help ;  but  in  the  case  of  Jairus  the 
delay  comes  from  the  intervention  of  another 
suppliant,  in  the  case  of  Lazarus  it  proceeds 
from  the  foresight  that  a  better  occasion  for 
help  will  arise.  In  the  case  of  Jairus  the  in- 
terruption to  the  march  of  mercy,  though  it 
had  its  plan  with  the  Father,  was  not  planned 
by  Jesus ;  He  was  simply  assailed  by  a  new 
form  of  pity.  But  in  the  case  of  Lazarus  pity 
was  suspended  in  the  interest  of  reason.  Jesus 
said,  '  I  can  save  these  sisters  a  great  deal  of 
pain,  but  the  world  will  lose  thereby  a  great 
deal  of  revelation.'  It  was  an  instance  of 
mental  vivisection.  For  the  sake  of  a  larger 
good  two  human  souls  are  subjected  to  a  pain 
which  might  have  been  spared  them.  And  the 
larger  good  was  the  vindication  of  God's  glory 
by  the  vision  of  a  larger  life.  But  for  that, 
the  delay  was  a  waste  of  time.  Martha  and 
Mary  would  as  soon  have  got  their  brother 
back  from  the  sick-bed  as  from  the  grave.    But 


I50         THE  UNIQUE  FEATURE  OF 

the  very  essence  of  the  picture  lies  in  the  fact 
that  the  proposed  miracle  is  proposed  not  for 
the  good  of  any  individual  but  for  the  glorify- 
ing of  God  Himself.  It  is  designed  as  a  vin- 
dication of  Divine  justice,  of  Divine  mercy,  of 
Divine  love,  through  a  revelation  of  the  truth 
that  to  fill  up  what  is  imperfect  here  there  is 
space  and  time  beyond  the  grave. 

Now,  this  is  the  unique  feature  of  the 
miracle  of  Bethany  as  seen  in  the  gallery  at 
sunset.  It  is  the  only  recorded  miracle  of 
Jesus  which  is  wrought  exclusively  for  the 
glory  of  God.  In  all  others  a  human  element 
co-operates.  In  all  others  the  impulse  of  pity 
for  man  plays  a  primary  part  in  the  scene. 
Even  the  revivals  from  death  are  gifts  restored 
to  humanity.  The  widow's  son  is  raised  for 
the  sake  of  his  mother;  the  daughter  of  Jairus 
is  given  back  for  the  sake  of  her  father.  But 
Lazarus  is  to  be  raised  for  something  higher 
than  any  family  consideration.  His  resurrec- 
tion is  to  be  an  offering  to  God  Almighty — 
I  say  with  reverence,  for  the  benefit  of  God 
Almighty.      He  is  to  be  raised   to  vindicate 


THE  CASE  OF  LAZARUS  151 

God's  glory.  In  the  view  of  Jesus,  this  glory 
is  dimmed  by  the  failure  of  man  to  realise 
immortality.  The  disbelief,  or  the  unbelief, 
in  a  future  state  is,  to  His  mind,  injustice  to 
the  Father.  It  is  the  Father  who  mainly 
suffers  by  such  a  scepticism.  He  is  bidden 
to  write  His  Book  of  Life  upon  a  few  leaves 
of  parchment.  Omnipotence  could  not  do  that 
— just  because  it  is  Omnipotence.  The  Book 
is  infinite,  and  therefore  it  cannot  be  written 
on  the  parchment.  To  justify  God  in  this 
world,  man  must  believe  in  another.  I  fail 
to  see  God  because  I  fail  to  see  the  risen 
Lazarus.  The  risen  Lazarus  is  not  simply 
the  gift  to  one  bereaved  family;  he  is  a  gift 
to  universal  Man  for  the  sake  of  the  Ever- 
lasting Father.  Not  merely  to  dry  the  tears 
of  the  weeping  sisters  is  the  presence  of  this 
man  to  be  restored ;  they  must  be  content  to 
share  the  common  joy.  His  presence  is  to  be 
restored  in  order  that,  through  the  open  door 
which  lets  him  back,  Man  may  get  a  glimpse 
of  a  garden  over  the  wall  and  postpone  his 
judgment  of  the  ways  of  God. 


152         THE  UNIQUE  FEATURE  OF 

Let  us  resume  the  analysis  of  the  picture. 
While  Jesus  lingers  in  Bethania  Lazarus  dies 
at  Bethany.  The  message  of  the  sisters  has 
seemingly  been  a  useless  one ;  the  prayer  im- 
plied in  it  has  apparently  proved  inefficient. 
It  has,  in  truth,  been  simply  premature.  Jesus 
might  have  answered  on  the  spot  the  cry  of 
Martha  and  Mary ;  but  He  wanted  at  the  same 
time  to  answer  the  cry  of  the  united  world. 
Had  He  intervened  in  the  sickness  He  would 
only  have  responded  to  the  lesser  call.  When 
He  hears  of  the  death,  or  rather,  when  He 
learns  it  by  His  Divine  clairvoyance,  He  makes 
a  curious  remark  to  His  disciples, '  I  am  glad 
for  your  sakes  that  I  was  not  there.'  What 
does  He  mean  ?  Speaking  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  Portrait^  His  being  there  or  not 
there  had  nothing  to  do  with  His  actual  power 
to  cure ;  He  could  have  healed  the  sickness 
of  Lazarus  at  a  distance  as  easily  as  in  the 
sick-chamber ;  the  clairvoyance  is  only  intro- 
duced to  prove  that.  Why,  then,  does  He 
say,  '  I  am  glad  for  your  sakes  that  I  was  not 
there'?      To  my  mind  there  is  only  one  ex- 


THE  CASE  OF  LAZARUS  153 

planation,  but  it  is  a  very  beautiful  one.  I 
understand  Jesus  to  mean  that,  had  He  been 
there,  He  might  have  been  constrained  by 
human  pity  to  grant  a  lesser  good.  The  very 
sense  that  His  presence  was  visible  in  the 
sick-room  and  that  yet  He  was  doing  nothing 
might  have  been  too  strong  for  Him.  It  might 
have  overcome  Him,  surprised  His  human 
nature  into  an  act  of  compassion  which  would 
have  forestalled  and  prevented  a  wider  sweep 
of  mercy.  *  I  am  glad  for  your  sakes.'  The 
men  at  His  side  were  trembling  with  the  fear 
of  death.  They  were  not  trembling  with  the 
fear  of  sickness ;  physicians  might  heal  the 
sick.  But  was  there  any  physician  for  death ! 
was  there  any  prescription  that  could  arrest 
the  horrors  of  the  grave !  Any  man  who  had 
a  prescription  for  death  would  be  wasting  time 
to  write  one  for  disease.  Jestis  had  one,  and 
He  was  glad  that  He  had  not  wasted  His  time. 
He  was  glad  that,  since  He  had  a  power  to  ex- 
tinguish the  night,  He  had  not  spent  the  hours 
in  sweeping  away  the  clouds  of  the  afternoon. 
What    was    this    prescription    of  Jesus    for 


154         THE  UNIQUE  FEATURE  OF 

destroying  the  horrors  of  death  ?  Do  not 
imagine  it  was  something  miraculous.  He 
meant  to  embody  it  in  a  miracle,  just  as  one 
may  wrap  up  a  prescription  in  a  parcel.  But 
the  parcel  is  not  the  prescription ;  I  may  lose 
the  one  and  keep  the  other.  In  point  of  fact, 
I  have  in  this  case  lost  the  parcel ;  I  cannot 
reproduce  the  resurrection  of  Lazarus.  But 
the  principle  which  Jesus  meant  to  teach  by 
the  resurrection  of  Lazarus  is  still  in  my  hands ; 
and  that  is  the  vital  thing.  It  was  not  the 
resurrection  of  Lazarus  that  robbed  death  of 
its  ancient  horror ;  it  was  the  new  thought 
which  it  suggested.  The  horror  of  death  was 
the  horror  of  an  idea ;  to  remove  the  horror 
of  death  you  must  change  the  idea.  What 
was  the  idea  which  made  death  so  horrible  to 
the  old  world — which  drove  Christ's  disciples 
out  of  Jerusalem,  which  impelled  the  sisters 
of  Bethany  to  ring  their  alarm-bell?  Let  us 
look  at  the  narrative,  and  we  shall  see. 

When  sickness  has  ended  in  death,  Jesus 
breaks  His  silence.  He  comes  to  Bethany — 
to  the  house  of  the  two  sisters.      He  finds  it 


THE  CASE  OF  LAZARUS  155 

crowded  with  visitors  of  condolence — men  from 
Jerusalem,  men  of  the  party  opposed  to  Him. 
The  sisters  are  both  grieving,  but  differently ; 
in  their  fast  as  in  their  feast  they  keep  their 
respective  characters.  Mary's  grief  takes  the 
form  of  stillness ;  she  sits  indoors.  But  Martha 
is  again  in  bustle — on  the  alert  for  what  is 
outside.  She  discerns  Jesus  afar  off;  she  comes 
out  to  meet  Him  ;  and  there  follows  a  dialogue 
which  has  become  historical.  If  I  were  writing 
a  '  Life '  I  should  describe  that  dialogue ;  as  I 
am  only  tracing  a  development,  I  shall  limit 
myself  to  one  feature.  But  it  is  the  crucial 
feature.  The  meeting  of  Martha  and  Jesus  is 
the  meeting  of  two  ideas,  I  might  say,  of  two 
worlds  —  the  old  and  the  new.  There  they 
stand  in  the  great  gallery  side  by  side — the 
age  that  was  past  and  the  age  that  was  com- 
ing !  The  dialogue  between  Martha  and  Jesus 
is  the  dialogue  between  the  old  and  the  new 
view  of  death.  It  is  a  transition  moment — the 
striking  of  a  clock  to  mark  that  one  hour  is 
ended,  that  another  is  begun.  You  and  I  will 
stand  and  listen. 


iS6         THE  UNIQUE  FEATURE  OF 

Says  Jesus,  '  Thy  brother  will  rise  again ' ; 
says  Martha,  '  I  know  he  will  rise  again  in  the 
resurrection  at  the  last  day.'  'No,'  replies 
Jesus,  '  /  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life  ;  he 
that  believeth  in  me  shall  live  in  the  hour  of 
death,  shall  live  in  the  act  of  death,  shall 
never,  on  one  side  of  his  nature,  be  partaker 
of  death  at  all.' 

In  that  dialogue  appear  at  once  the  horror 
and  the  glory.  To  Martha  death  was  a  sus- 
pension of  life  ;  and  to  her  that  was  its  horror. 
No  doubt  she  believed  her  brother  would  be 
recreated  ;  but  meantime  he  was  dead  —  a 
thing  like  the  clod  of  the  valley.  That  was 
the  awful  thought.  For,  if  Lazarus  were  now 
dead^  the  old  life  could  never  be  compensated. 
A  resurrection  at  the  last  day  would  be  no 
compensation  ;  that  would  be  simply  a  new 
Lazarus  with  an  old  memory.  What  men 
have  wanted  in  all  ages  is  a  completion  of  the 
old  life.  They  have  sighed  for  a  proof  that 
this  defective  structure  can  be  repaired  here- 
after in  the  point  of  its  deficiency.  You  may 
build   a   new  house  on   the   former  site,  and 


THE  CASE  OF  LAZARUS  157 

connect  it  with  the  former  scenes  ;  but  the 
architect  of  the  first  house  has  not  thereby 
been  vindicated.  Jesus  felt  this.  Standing 
beside  Martha  and  the  Jewish  idea  of  death, 
He  perceived  that  the  time  had  come  for  the 
planting  of  His  own.  He  plants  it  here — 
almost  in  the  face  of  Bethany's  graveyard ! 
'Martha/  He  says,  'you  have  a  wrong  thought 
of  death ;  I  bring  you  a  higher  and  a  holier 
one.  You  call  death  the  suspension  of  life. 
No,  it  is  the  transition  of  life.  I  am  come  to 
tell  you,  to  show  you,  that  the  soul  need  not 
wait  for  the  last  day — that  it  can  rise  from  the 
very  bed  of  death,  from  the  very  couch  of 
physical  decay,  from  the  very  first  touch 
of  the  hand  of  corruption,  I  am  come  to 
replace  your  thought  of  resurrection  by  my 
thought  of  immortality! 

And  this  impregnation  with  a  new  thought 
explains — what  otherwise  would  to  me  seem 
very  strange — those  words  of  His  to  Martha, 
*  If  you  believe,  you  will  see  the  glory  of  God.' 
One  would  have  thought  that  what  Martha 
wanted  to  see  was  her  brother.     And  doubt- 


iS8         THE  UNIQUE  FEATURE  OF 

less  that  was  her  desire.  But  to  Jesus  that 
was  not  the  main  thing.  The  main  thing  was 
not  the  resurrection  of  Lazarus,  but  what  the 
resurrection  of  Lazarus  proved.  Not  the  fact, 
but  the  thought,  was  to  be  the  permanent 
possession  of  humanity.  The  fact  would  pass 
away ;  it  has  passed  away.  There  no  longer 
stands  in  the  midst  of  us  a  man  who  even 
claims  to  reveal  the  presence  of  the  dead  in 
the  land  of  the  living ;  Lazarus  himself  has 
not  appeared  after  his  second  death.  But  the 
thought  abides  —  fresh,  pregnant,  powerful. 
The  Jewish  belief  has  exploded  ;  the  Christian 
has  taken  its  place.  Immortality,  as  distin- 
guished from  resurrection,  is  in  the  air.  There 
is  more  hope  for  the  reconstruction  of  the 
dilapidated  human  life ;  we  believe  more  in 
the  possibilities  of  the  glory  of  God.  There- 
fore, also,  we  have  more  hope  in  Man.  Charity 
is  born  of  the  faith  in  Immortality.  Our 
schools  for  the  ignorant,  our  reformatories  for 
the  erring,  have  been  built  upon  the  empty 
tomb  of  Lazarus,  for  there  we  first  found  the 
prospect  of  a  larger  life  for  Man. 


THE  CASE  OF  LAZARUS  159 

O  ON  ot  Man,  I  understand  Thy  tears  in  the 
*^  graveyard  of  Bethany,  Men  have  asked 
the  reason  of  Thy  weeping — weeping  for  one 
Thou  wert  about  to  raise !  But  it  was  not 
for  Lazarus,  nor  yet,  methinks,  for  death.  It 
was  for  the  false  view  men  had  formed  of 
death.  It  was  because  the  world  could  think 
so  meanly  of  Thy  Father  as  to  believe  that 
He  could  extinguish  in  an  hour  a  life  to  which 
He  had  given  the  powers  of  eternity.  It  is 
written  of  Thee  that  Thou  didst  enter  the 
graveyard  of  Bethany  'breathing  indignation.' 
Often  it  seemed  to  me  a  strange  sentiment  for 
a  cemetery.  But  I  understand  it  now.  I 
understand  both  the  indignation  and  the 
weeping,  for  these  two  were  one.  Men  were 
impeaching  the  honour  of  Thy  Father.  They 
were  charging  Him  with  having  given  Man  a 
soul,  and  then  laid  him  in  the  dust.  Thou 
wert  jealous  for  Thy  Father's  glory ;  I  appre- 
ciate the  swellings  of  Thy  heart,  I  appreciate 
the  moisture  of  Thine  eye.  In  my  hour  of 
sorrow  I  often  reproach  those  who  robbed  me 
of  my  first  faith.     Thy  reproaches  also  fell  on 


i6o  THE  CASE  OF  LAZARUS 

them  ;  Thy  tears  fell  on  me.  Thy  tears  were 
the  showers  of  Thy  compassion  for  my  dead 
hope,  for  my  dim  sight,  for  my  buried  faith, 
for  my  forgetfulness  of  the  glory  of  the  Father. 
And  the  shower  of  sorrow  was  a  shower  of 
blessing ;  it  was  the  tears  of  the  protesting 
rainbow  in  the  evening  sky,  In  the  hour  of 
my  life's  despair,  ever  let  such  drops  descend 
on  me\ 


CHAPTER    XII 

EFFECTS  OF  THE   LAZARUS   EPISODE 

There  were  two  things  which  always  sup- 
pressed passion  against  Jesus  —  His  close 
presence  and  His  complete  absence.  The 
former  overawed ;  the  latter  freed  from  fear. 
We  have  seen  the  influence  of  each.  We 
have  seen  Him  face  to  face  with  the  infuriated 
crowd,  paralysing  by  His  presence  the  passions 
of  that  crowd.  We  have  seen  Him  in  the 
retirement  beyond  Jordan,  equally  contribut- 
ing by  His  absence  to  still  the  national  enmity. 
The  thing  which  provoked  controversy  con- 
cerning Jesus  was  neither  His  immediate  pre- 
sence nor  His  entire  absence.  His  enemies 
were  most  powerful  when  He  was  neither  face 
to  face  with  them  nor  at  a  great  distance  from 
them,  but  in  the  neighbourhood  where  they 
dwelt.  They  could  not  stone  Him  in  the  same 
VOL.  II.  1, 


i62    EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE 

field ;  but  they  could  plot  against  Him  in  the 
next  street. 

Jesus  had  now  come  again  within  the  sur- 
veillance of  His  enemies  :  He  was  at  Bethany. 
The  storm  which  had  been  lulled  to  rest  burst 
forth  afresh.  Within  a  few  hours  after  His 
arrival  strange  tidings  spread  into  Jerusalem. 
It  was  reported  that  Jesus  had  raised  a  dead 
man — a  man  already  in  the  grave ;  that  the 
miracle  had  been  done  publicly,  in  the  midst 
of  a  concourse,  in  the  presence  of  many  of 
His  adversaries ;  that  the  Pharisaic  ranks  had 
been  shaken  and  were  passing  over  to  His 
cause.  The  matter  was  deemed  so  serious 
that  it  instantly  became  national.  It  had 
passed  beyond  the  region  of  private  disputa- 
tion. It  was  considered  a  question  of  life  or 
death  for  the  nation.  A  meeting  of  the  San- 
hedrin  was  called ;  and  the  High  Priest  sat 
in  council  with  his  brethren. 

Before  we  go  a  step  further,  let  us  ask  what 
was  the  cause  of  the  alarm.  I  have  often 
heard  it  said.  Is  it  not  a  very  remarkable  thing 
that  an  event  which,  according  to  the  fourth 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE    163 

gospel,  caused  the  death  of  Jesus,  should  have 
been  absolutely  omitted  by  the  record  of  the 
other  three  ?  But  I  must  point  out  that  there 
is  a  confusion  of  thought  here.  Lazarus  had 
nothing  to  do  with  Christ's  death.  No  gospel 
has  ever  affirmed  that  the  raising  of  Lazarus 
was  any  offence  on  the  part  of  Jesus.  How 
could  the  reputation  of  having  raised  a  man 
from  the  dead  be  any  offence  to  the  Jew ! 
Had  not  his  own  prophet  Elijah  worn  that 
fame  as  a  glory !  The  Sadducees  believed  in 
no  resurrection,  but  they  never  dreamed  of 
separating  from  those  who  did.  The  truth 
is,  the  indignation  which  now  burst  upon 
Jesus  was  indignation  for  something  in  the 
past.  The  offence  of  Jesus  was  the  old 
offence — the  claim  to  an  origin  which  would 
have  given  other  nations  an  equal  place  with 
the  children  of  Israel.  It  was  the  same 
alleged  crime  for  which  they  had  sought  to 
stone  Him  a  few  weeks  before.  What  the 
Lazarus  sensation  did  was  to  revive  the  pub- 
licity of  Jesus.  It  added  nothing  to  His 
obnoxiousness.     It  simply  made  it  more  pes- 


1 64    EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE 

sible  for  Him  to  pursue  His  former  course. 
The  dangerous  side  which  Judaism  saw  in 
Jesus  did  not  lie  in  any  of  His  deeds ;  it 
lay  in  His  words.  But  the  greater  His  deeds, 
the  more  power  He  had  to  enforce  His  words. 
From  the  Jewish  point  of  view  it  mattered 
little  what  the  deed  was ;  the  only  question 
was,  Would  it  help  the  influence  of  one  who 
was  supposed  to  be  a  national  enemy?  The 
withering  of  a  fig-tree  would  have  been  as 
much  deplored  as  the  raising  of  a  Lazarus. 
If  I  am  jealous  of  a  man,  I  deprecate  the 
success  of  his  book  irrespective  of  its  subject. 
Lazarus  happened  to  be  here  the  subject ; 
but  the  success  was  the  real  sting. 

In  obedience  to  the  call  of  danger  the 
Sanhedrin  met.  And  here  we  meet  with  a 
surprise.  The  tone  of  the  speeches  is  the 
very  opposite  of  what  we  should  have  ex- 
pected. Bitterness  against  Jesus  there  is,  and 
to  the  full ;  but  it  is  the  ground  of  the  bitter- 
ness that  surprises  us.  We  looked  for  an 
outcry  in  favour  of  Jewish  nationalism ;  we 
are  greeted  instead  with  an  outburst  in  favour 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE    165 

of  Rome.  The  sentiment  of  the  assembly 
is  focussed  in  the  speech  of  the  High  Priest, 
Caiaphas.     Let  me  try  to  paraphrase  it. 

'  Men  of  Israel,  it  has  often  been  the  lot 
of  my  office  to  present  a  sacrifice  of  expiation 
to  heaven.  But  it  seems  to  me  a  time  is 
coming  when  we  shall  need  to  propitiate  an 
earthly  power.  Rome  has  suffered  much  from 
the  insubordination  of  her  dependencies.  They 
have  reaped  many  privileges,  and  they  have 
been  in  danger  of  forgetting  them.  We  have 
not  been  the  least  among  the  offenders.  We 
have  for  years  incensed  that  proud  empire  which 
bears  the  sway  over  us.  Her  eye  is  on  us  now 
as  we  stand  here  on  the  eve  of  a  revolution. 
She  sees  things  running  to  an  acme.  She 
beholds  men  intoxicated  with  this  Galilean 
movement ;  and  what  is  the  work  of  the  rabble 
she  attributes  to  the  rulers.  Let  us  undeceive 
her  ere  she  strikes !  Let  us  ourselves  put 
down  this  movement  with  a  high  hand  !  Let 
us  propitiate  Rome  by  doing  the  work  which 
Rome  would  propose  to  do  !  Let  us  prove  our 
fidelity  by  slaying  the  Galilean  leader!  It  is 
expedient  that  one  die  for  the  people.' 


1 66   EFFECTS  OF  THE  LARARUS  EPISODE 

Now,  here  is  a  very  striking  thing.  The 
enemies  of  Jesus  had  accused  Him  of  being  a 
traitor  to  Judea  ;  they  now  prefer  against  Him 
the  opposite  charge — that  of  being  a  traitor  to 
Rome.  Can  we  account  for  this  change  of 
front?  I  think  we  can.  As  long  as  there  was 
a  chance  of  Jesus  falling  a  victim  to  lawless 
violence,  the  Jewish  leaders  strove  to  inflame 
the  multitude  by  the  cry  'Treason  to  Israel !' 
But  when  they  found  that  Jesus  could  not 
be  cut  off  in  that  way,  when  they  were  com- 
pelled to  seek  His  death  by  law,  they  had  to 
cry  '  Treason  to  Rome  ! '  Rome  alone  could 
sentence  to  death  by  law,  and  Rome  would 
never  sentence  to  death  for  treason  against 
Judea.  If  Rome  should  be  induced  to  inflict 
capital  punishment,  it  could  only  be  on  the 
ground  that  she  herself  was  menaced.  It  was 
no  offence  to  her  that  Jesus  thought  the 
Gentiles  equal  to  the  Jews  ;  to  disparage  Jesus 
in  her  eyes  He  must  be  proved  to  be  anti- 
Roman.  That  was  the  object  of  the  Sanhedrin 
meeting  ;  that  was  the  object  of  the  speech  of 
Caiaphas,     It  was  a  cry  of  danger  intended  to 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE    167 

be  overheard.  Spoken  at  Jerusalem,  it  was 
not  meant  for  Jerusalem.  It  was  meant  to 
travel  to  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  to  reach  the 
ears  of  the  Senate,  to  penetrate  the  palace 
of  the  Caesars,  to  rouse  the  co-operation  of 
an  empire  whose  very  idea  of  religion  was 
obedience  to  herself. 

The  cry  of  the  Sanhedrin  was  virtually  a 
sentence  of  death  on  Jesus.  How  did  Jesus 
act  under  these  circumstances?  St.  John  says 
He  withdrew  into  the  country  districts.  Are 
you  startled  to  hear  that  He  avoided  the  blast  ? 
You  forget,  He  was  carrying  out  a  plan,  and 
He  had  been  interrupted  in  that  plan.  He  had 
a  few  weeks  before  withdrawn  His  disciples 
from  the  scene  of  terror  in  order  that  they 
might  be  calm  to  hear  the  tidings  of  Immor- 
tality. He  had  been  teaching  their  thoughts 
to  soar — to  look  beyond  the  seen  and  temporal. 
He  had  been  arrested  in  His  work  ere  it  was 
finished;  the  domestic  bereavement  at  Bethany 
had  called  Him  back  to  the  vicinity  of  danger ; 
He  had  never  viewed  the  interruption  as  per- 
manent ;    He    had    always    meant,   after   dis- 


i68    EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE 

charging  His  duty  to  the  bereaved,  to  complete 
in  retirement  the  education  of  His  disciples. 
Is  it  wonderful  that  after  His  Bethany  work 
was  done  He  should  again  have  withdrawn 
Himself!  So  far  from  being  cowardice,  it  was 
the  most  consummate  bravery.  Is  there  any 
bravery  equal  to  that  of  pursuing  a  deliberate 
plan  in  the  hour  of  danger!  Such  was  the 
courage  of  Jesus  \ 

Jesus  does  not,  however,  return  to  the 
old  spot.  He  seeks,  this  time,  a  different 
locality.  He  proceeds  in  the  direction  of  the 
Jewish  wilderness.  Do  you  think  it  was  by 
accident  that  He  bent  His  steps  thither?  I 
do  not.  The  Wilderness  of  Judea  was  the 
place  where,  in  the  morning  of  His  mission, 
there  had  glittered  before  His  eyes  the  king- 
doms of  this  world  and  the  glory  of  them,  and 
where  a  voice  had  said,  '  Live  for  earthy  and 
these  shall  be  thine.'  He  wanted  His  disciples 
to  hear,  in  the  same  vicinity,  another  voice, 
'  Pass  to  heaven^  and  these  shall  be  thine.'  He 
wanted  them  to  realise  that  death  was  for  Him 
not  even  the  end  of  earth,  and  that  the  true 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE    169 

glory  of  His  kingdom  was  reserved  for  the 
time  when  He  should  enter  into  the  cloud. 

Now,  it  is  a  singular  fact  that  under  the 
shadow  of  this  retreat  the  hopes  for  the 
Messianic  kingdom  blazed  out  anew.  They 
had  been  almost  reduced  to  ashes.  Nor  did  it 
seem  that  this  was  the  time  for  their  revival. 
The  fortunes  of  Jesus  were  at  their  lowest. 
He  was  to  all  appearance  a  fugitive ;  the  hand 
of  every  man  was  against  Him.  And  yet  it 
was  at  this  moment  and  at  no  other  that  the 
mother  of  James  and  John  preferred  the  bold 
request,  'Grant  that  these  my  two  sons  may 
sit,  the  one  on  Thy  right  hand  and  the  other 
on  Thy  left,  in  Thy  kingdom  ! ' 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  thing  which 
impresses  me  first  in  this  request  is  not  its 
presumption,  but  its  faith.  Why  should  these 
men  begin  to  dream  of  the  kingdom  when 
their  Master  had  seemingly  only  the  prospect 
of  a  grave?  I  can  only  account  for  it  on  one 
supposition.  Something  must  have  happened 
to  raise  their  drooping  spirits,  to  quicken  their 
sense  of  Christ's   power.      We   arc   often   re- 


X70    EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE 

minded  that  the  first  gospels  are  silent  about 
Lazarus.  But  is  their  own  narrative  coherent 
without  Lazarus?  Does  not  St.  John  supply 
the  missing  link — their  missing  link  ?  Is  not 
the  Lazarus  episode  the  fitting  antecedent  to 
this  reviving  hope  ?  Did  the  successful  prayer 
of  the  sisters  stimulate  these  young  men  also 
to  approach  Jesus  through  the  intercessory 
power  of  woman  ?  One  thing  at  least  is  sure 
— that  mother  and  sons  alike  must  have  seen  a 
star  in  the  dark  sky  before  they  could  offer  a 
prayer  of  such  tremendous  faith. 

Yet  the  presumption  is  nearly  equal  to  the 
faith — would  be  altogether  so  but  for  the 
ignorance  which  lay  at  the  root  of  it,  and 
which  Jesus  Himself  discerned.  I  do  not,  in- 
deed, think  that  the  request  of  the  young  men 
was  prompted  by  pride  or  ambition.  I  think 
it  came  from  endearment.  It  was  the  desire 
to  be  near  Jesus — to  be  ever  by  His  side.  Yet 
the  particular  direction  in  which  they  sought 
this  nearness  was  startling :  they  asked  to  sit 
with  Christ  on  His  judgment-throne — His  own 
throne — the  right  and  left  of  His  throne!     I 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE    171 

believe  they  cared  little  either  for  the  throne 
or  for  the  power  to  judge  the  world ;  they 
chose  the  sphere  from  its  nearness  to  Jesus. 
Many  of  us  in  life  commit  their  mistake ;  we 
apply  for  a  post  for  which  we  are  unfitted  in 
order  to  get  some  benefit  outside  of  it.  The 
strictures  of  Jesus  are  not  against  their  wish 
to  be  near  Him.  What  He  objects  to  is  that, 
even  with  such  a  motive,  they  should  apply 
for  a  post  wholly  unsuited  to  their  present 
capacity,  and  in  which  they  must  exert  an 
influence  unfavourable  to  the  cause  of  right- 
eousness. '  You  know  not  what  you  ask,'  He 
says,  '  can  you  drink  of  my  cup ! '  At  first 
sight  one  does  not  discern  the  connection  be- 
tween drinking  of  the  cup  and  ruling  in  the 
kingdom.  But  when  we  come  to  see  that  the 
throne  desired  is  a  throne  of  judgment,  when 
we  come  to  realise  that  the  post  requested  is 
the  office  of  rewarding  or  punishing  the  deeds 
of  men,  the  thought  of  Jesus  becomes  lumin- 
ously clear.  Let  me  try  reverently  to  ex- 
press it  by  my  favourite  method — that  of 
paraphrase. 


172    EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE 

'  You  want  to  sit  on  my  throne  of  judgment. 
Have  you  had  my  experience?  I  do  not 
mean,  "  Have  you  had  my  experience  of 
heaven  ?  "  but,  "  Have  you  had  my  experience 
of  earth?"  If  /  sit  on  the  judgment-throne 
of  humanity,  it  is  not  because  I  have  been 
farther  up  than  you  ;  it  is  because  I  have  been 
farther  down  than  you.  No  man  is  entitled  to 
sit  on  the  judgment-throne  of  humanity  until, 
in  sympathy,  he  has  been  down  in  the  dock 
with  the  prisoner,  /have  been  in  that  position. 
My  right  to  be  the  prisoner's  judge  is  that  I 
have  first  been  the  prisoner's  counsel.  I  know 
his  difficulties.  I  have  realised  his  temptations. 
I  have  measured  the  narrowness  of  his  environ- 
ment. Have  you  done  this?  Where  have 
you  proved  it?  Not  at  Samaria.  Do  you 
remember  the  refractory  village,  and  how  you 
wished  to  burn  it?  You  were  there  the  two 
young  men  out  of  all  the  band  who  most 
proved  your  inadequacy  for  a  throne  of  calm 
judgment.  Is  it  not  well  your  power  was  not 
then  equal  to  your  will  ?  None  can  receive 
the   mission   you   desire   who    have   not   first 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE    173 

through  sacrificial  love  been  prepared  for  it  by 
my  Father.' 

It  is  curious  how  at  this  time  the  hearth 
moves  side  by  side  with  the  altar;  this,  like 
the  table  of  Martha  and  Mary,  is  a  domestic 
scene.  Jesus  is  now  on  the  track  of  universal 
humanity  —  of  the  fireside  instincts.  The 
picture  in  the  present  narrative  is  a  fireside 
picture.  I  would  call  this  the  first  prayer  ever 
offered  to  Christ  at  the  domestic  altar;  it  is 
a  mother's  supplication  for  the  prosperity  of 
her  sons.  It  was  a  premature  supplication ; 
but  did  Jesus  remember  the  equally  premature 
desire  of  another  mother — His  own  ?  Did  He 
remember  how  at  Cana  she  wanted  Him  to 
manifest  His  power  before  the  time?  Whether 
He  connected  the  incidents  I  cannot  tell.  But 
I  feel  quite  sure  that  He  looked  upon  this 
initial  act  of  family  worship  as  a  typical  act 
— an  act  which  every  mother  throughout  the 
Israel  of  God  would  repeat,  and  which  would 
form  in  after-time  the  basis  of  domestic 
union. 


174    EFFECTS  OF  THE  LAZARUS  EPISODE 

T  THANK  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  Thou  hast 
-^  consecrated  the  domestic  hearth.  I  thank 
Thee  that  Thou  hast  consecrated  a  mother's 
prayers.  I  thank  Thee  for  this  inauguration 
of  the  family  altar  —  its  inauguration  by 
maternal  sympathy.  Help  the  prayers  of  the 
mothers  of  Israel,  of  the  mothers  of  England ! 
Teach  them  to  ask  for  their  sons  that  which  is 
good  !  Teach  them  to  desire  for  their  children 
not  the  glitter  but  the  gold,  not  the  veneer  but 
the  value,  not  the  bauble  but  the  blessing ! 
Teach  them  to  believe  that  their  sons  will  be 
helped  by  tasting  of  Thy  cup — the  cup  of 
sacrifice !  Forbid  that  the  homes  of  Israel, 
forbid  that  the  homes  of  England,  should  train 
their  youth  to  expect  only  luxurious  days  on 
earth!  Forbid  they  should  ever  train  their 
youth  to  expect  only  luxurious  days  in  heavenX 
Let  them  not  dream  of  any  land  where  springs 
the  thornless  rose !  Reveal  to  them  that  to  sit 
at  Thy  right  hand  is  a  painful  thing — that  it 
is  Thy  pain,  Thy  vision  of  human  sorrow,  Thy 
sense  of  human  sin  !  When  Thou  hast  sancti- 
fied the  mother's  wishes  for  the  child,  the 
homes  of  our  land  will  be  homes  of  holiness. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE  ANOINTING   AT   BETHANY* 

Let  us  bear  in  mind  the  singular  position 
which  Jesus  now  occupies  as  He  stands  before 
us  in  this  moment  of  seclusion.  In  looking 
at  His  Portrait  at  this  time  we  seem  to  be 
listening  to  a  duet.  His  life  strikes  the  ear 
more  than  the  eye.  It  seems  to  be  sung  in 
two  parts — a  minor  and  a  treble.  On  the 
one  hand  it  is  very  near  its  lowest  pitch  of 
fortune.  The  adherents  who  had  clung  to 
Him  through  personal  love  were  very  few. 
The  Lazarus  episode  had  produced  converts, 
but  they  had  been  converts  to  His  power,  and 
would  probably  melt  before  His  coming  fire 

^  The  earlier  accounts  of  this  incident  are  vague.  /  believe 
they  are  designedly  so.  They  aim  at  hiding  the  agCiicy  of  the 
Bethany  family — probably  to  screen  them  from  persecution. 
I  think  the  statement  in  Matthew  and  Mark,  that  the  feast  was 
'in  the  house  of  Simon,'  is  the  note  of  a  transcriber  who 
confused  the  event  with  the  similar  incident  in  Simon's  house 
recorded  in  Luke  vii.  36,  et  seq. 

175 


176     THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY 

of  tribulation.  They  would  say,  'It  must 
have  been  a  case  of  premature  burial ;  if  this 
man  could  raise  another,  he  could  prevent  his 
own  death  ! '  That  death,  indeed,  was  im- 
minent ;  and  to  the  eye  of  the  world  it  was 
a  sign  of  failure.  Even  to  the  eye  of  Jesus 
it  was  not  yet  a  sign  of  triumph.  He  saw 
that  He  would  survive  it.  He  saw  that  in 
spite  of  it  His  present  followers — those  whom 
the  Father  had  already  given  Him — would  be 
supported  and  sustained  for  a  second  effort. 
But  it  still  seemed  to  mar  His  work  for  the 
outside  world — to  aggravate  in  the  sight  of 
the  Father  that  very  unrighteousness  which 
He  had  come  to  lessen  and  to  expiate.  From 
the  physical  side,  every  step  of  Jesus  had 
been  in  the  direction  described  by  Paul's 
ladder — a  step  downward.  His  life  had 
steadily  but  surely  descended  from  the  height 
to  the  plain,  from  the  plain  to  the  valley. 
At  the  present  moment  He  was  actually  in  the 
valley ;  He  was  within  sight  of  the  common 
doom  of  men.  That  is  the  lower  part  of  the 
life-duet  to  which  the  ear  listens. 


THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY     177 

But  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  a  soprano 
part.  You  will  remember  how  Paul  told  us 
it  must  be  so  :  *  He  humbled  Himself,  therefore 
God  hath  highly  exalted  Him.'  We  have 
seen  how  the  valley  is  the  widest  sphere,  how 
the  wants  of  the  valley  are  the  universal  wants. 
Accordingly,  this  period  of  outward  circum- 
scribedness,  this  period  of  physical  seclusion 
in  the  life  of  Jesus,  is  of  all  others  that  in 
which  His  gospel  most  touches  the  universal 
mind.  Already  have  we  seen  the  signs  of 
that  universality.  Already  have  we  beheld 
Him  bursting  the  limits  of  Judaism.  Already 
have  we  witnessed  Him  projecting  a  miracle 
which  by  revealing  human  immortality  should 
justify  the  ways  of  God  to  united  Man. 
Already  have  we  gazed  upon  Him  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  social  hour  precisely  on  the 
ground  that  the  social  hour  reveals  those 
instincts  in  man  which  are  the  most  uncon- 
ventional and  therefore  the  most  natural  and 
cosmopolitan.  All  this  we  have  seen ;  and  in 
proportion  as  the  life  stoops,  we  shall  see 
greater   things   than   these.     The   two  voices 

VOL.  II.  M 


178     THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY 

are  not  discordant  voices ;  they  are  the  parts 
of  one  song ;  they  are  a  duet. 

There  is  one  point  which  has  been  coming 
prominently  forth  in  this  period — the  minis- 
trant  power  of  Woman.  Woman  is  the  cosmo- 
politan side  of  Man — the  side  least  affected 
by  national  differences.  It  is  at  this  period 
of  sunset  that  the  influence  of  Woman,  like 
that  of  other  universal  things,  bursts  into 
flower.  In  the  Galilean  ministry  her  influence 
was  not  unknown  ;  Jesus  had  utilised  her 
services  for  His  missionary  guild.  But  that 
which  Woman  wanted  was  recognition  in  her 
own  sphere.  It  was  all  very  well  to  be  utilised 
for  religious  work  ;  but  that  was  not  necessarily 
a  compliment  to  the  sphere  of  Woman,  for  it 
was  really  her  incorporation  in  the  sphere  of 
Man.  What  she  wanted  was  to  be  recognised 
in  her  peculiar  province — not  to  be  lifted  out 
of  that  province.  Hitherto,  within  her  sphere 
she  had  been  rather  the  helped  than  the  helper. 
Her  diseases  had  been  healed ;  her  tears  had 
been  dried ;  but  it  had  not  yet  been  pointed 
out  to   the   world   that   her   influence   in  the 


THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY      179 

home  was  a  potent  force  for  the  kingdom  of 
God. 

With  the  dech'ning  sun  this  new  revelation 
came.  We  have  seen  how,  side  by  side  with 
the  altar,  there  rose  before  the  eye  of  Jesus 
a  vision  of  the  hearth.  In  the  days  when  the 
sacrificial  fire  became  visible,  the  domestic 
fire  began  to  glitter  and  to  glow ;  and  in  the 
centre  of  the  temple  of  home  the  priesthood 
of  Woman  was  revealed.  The  pictures  of  that 
time  are  nearly  all  female  pictures — from  the 
woman  who  violated  the  sacredness  of  her 
hearth  to  that  mother  of  Zebedee's  children 
who  consecrated  her  hearth  to  Jesus.  Between 
them  lay  the  sweet  home  of  Bethany,  with  its 
memories  of  joy  and  its  memories  of  sorrow, 
and  alike  in  its  joy  and  its  sorrow  lighting  a 
holy  fire.  And  to  the  trophies  of  that  home 
there  was  about  to  be  added  yet  another,  which 
was  to  call  forth  from  the  lips  of  Jesus  the 
mightiest  tribute  of  gratitude  for  the  service 
of  Woman  which  has  ever  been  pronounced 
upon  her  in  any  land  or  at  any  time.  It  is 
the    imprimatur    on    a    mere    home    service ; 


i8o     THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY 

but  that  is  its  beauty,  that  is  its  glory;  by 
that  it  has  consecrated  for  ever  the  ties  of 
family  life. 

Let  us  stand  in  the  gallery  again  and  inter- 
pret the  scene  as  it  is  painted.  Martha  and 
Mary  make  another  feast.  '  What ! '  says  the 
spectator,  *  so  soon  after  the  death  of  Lazarus ! 
Yes,  but  the  picture  is  true  to  itself  It 
vindicates  the  good  taste  of  the  sisters  by 
reminding  us  that  between  the  dying  and  the 
feasting  something  has  occurred — the  rising 
again.  The  picture  is  a  consistent  unity ;  it 
puts  Lazarus  at  the  feast  beside  Martha  and 
Mary.  What  a  breach  of  art  it  would  have 
been  if  Lazarus  had  been  absent — if  this  had 
been  a  supper  over  his  dust !  It  would  have 
been  one  of  the  most  ghastly  portraitures  which 
the  brush  of  the  painter  has  ever  delineated ! 
The  raising  of  a  man  from  the  dead  is  an  act 
with  which  the  artist  intermeddleth  not ;  it 
is  beyond  the  stroke  of  his  pencil.  But  the 
making  of  a  great  feast  in  the  house  of  a 
brother,  who  a  few  days  ago  was  carried  from 
its  portals  to  the  grave,  is  against  the  stroke  of 


THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY      i8i 

his  pencil ;  to  describe  it  on  the  canvas  would 
be  to  portray  a  monstrosity.  This  feast  of  the 
sisters  of  Bethany,  commonplace  as  it  is, 
demands  in  the  interest  of  art  the  presence  of 
Lazarus. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  thanksgiving  for  Lazarus. 
There  are  some  whose  hymns  of  praise  are 
secular  songs.  Amongst  those,  methinks, 
were  these  sisters  of  Bethany.  Whenever 
their  hearts  were  full  of  God  they  rushed  into 
social  hospitality.  Their  hearts  were  full  of 
God  now,  and  they  poured  them  out  in  the 
old  way.  They  invited  guests  from  far  and 
near  to  be  sharers  in  their  joy.  But  there  was 
one  whose  presence  they  solicited  above  all 
others — the  true  object  of  their  thanksgiving — 
Jesus.  They  were  not  afraid  to  offer  Him  a 
thing  otherwise  unconsecrated — an  hour  of 
purely  secular  hospitality.  And  Jesus  was  not 
afraid  to  come — not  even  from  those  solemn 
shadows  of  death  which  encompassed  Him. 
Did  not  these  shadows  themselves  unite  Him 
to  that  which  was  universal  in  Manr— below 
creeds,   beyond   nationalities?      Did  they  not 


i82      THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY 

join  Him  to  that  want  which  lies  at  the  root 
of  human  brotherhood,  and  which  causes  the 
sons  of  men  to  gather  into  social  fellowship  ? 
They  did ;  therefore  Jesus  came— came  to 
a  seemingly  incongruous  scene.  He  issued 
from  His  place  of  seclusion  near  the  Judaic 
wilderness.  There,  in  the  lonely  village  called 
Ephraim — a  spot  unrecognised  by  the  modern 
traveller — He  had  spent  these  intermediate 
days.  Now  He  reappears — in  the  home  of 
festivity,  in  the  vicinity  of  danger ;  and  here 
is  enacted  a  scene  which  He  predicted  would 
become  historical,  and  which  has  actually 
realised  the  expectation. 

Outwardly,  what  happened  was  a  very 
simple  thing — not  the  kind  of  action  of  which 
one  prophesies  immortality.  It  was  merely  an 
excessive  expression  of  personal  gratitude.  In 
a  moment  of  rapturous  thanksgiving  for  the 
restored  life  of  her  brother,  Mary  deliberately 
broke  a  box  of  the  most  precious  ointment, 
and,  instead  of  contenting  herself  with  the 
method  of  greeting  commonly  received  by 
honoured  guests,  she  anointed  the  very  feet 


THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY     183 

of  Jesus,  and  wiped  them  with  the  hairs  of  her 
head  !  It  seemed  a  deed  of  extravagant  pro- 
fusion. It  was  an  expenditure  of  fireworks — 
brilh'ant  but  evanescent.  It  was  love  squander- 
ing upon  an  illumination  a  sum  of  money  that 
might  have  been  spent  in  beneficence ;  and  it 
awakened  something  like  a  thrill  of  horror. 
The  treasurer  Judas  said^  and  the  other  dis- 
ciples thought,  '  To  what  purpose  is  this 
waste ! ' 

But  Jesus  said  :  *  I  tell  you  this  is  the  most 
permanent  thing  that  has  yet  been  done  for 
me.  You  think  it  a  fugitive  act,  a  wasteful 
deed.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  deed  that  bears 
the  stamp  of  immortality.  Wheresoever  this 
gospel  is  preached — and  it  will  be  preached 
everywhere — there  shall  the  act  of  this  woman 
be  proclaimed.  Other  deeds  record  the  good 
done  dj'  me ;  this  will  tell  of  the  good  done  to 
me.  I  have  influenced  the  world \  but  this 
woman  has  influenced  me.  She  hath  wrought 
a  good  work  in  me ;  she  did  it  for  my  burial.' 

I  have  here  followed  the  form  of  the  narra- 
tive given  by  St.  Matthew,  because  I  think  the 


i84     THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY 

rendering  there  is  more  correct  as  regards  the 
ground  of  Mary's  commendation.  Adopting, 
then,  this  reading,  what  does  Jesus  mean  by 
the  words,  '  She  did  it  for  my  burial '  ?  As  I 
have  said,  Mary's  motive  was  not  the  anointing 
of  Jesus  for  His  burial.  That  would  have 
been  an  offering  of  her  sorrow.  This  was 
unmistakably  an  offering  of  her  joy.  She  was 
thinking,  not  of  the  burial  preparing,  but  of  the 
burial  baffled.  The  breaking  of  the  alabaster 
box  was  a  tribute,  not  to  death,  but  to  life. 
It  was  an  offering  of  thanks  to  God  for  the 
restored  life  of  her  brother  Lazarus.  Jesus 
knew  it  to  be  so,  and  He  accepted  the  motive 
even  while  He  saw  a  deeper  use  for  the  deed. 
He  put  more  into  the  box  than  Mary  had 
originally  put  into  it ;  but  He  did  not  refuse 
what  had  been  originally  inserted.  He  saw  in 
Mary's  action  more  than  she  saw  herself;  but 
He  beheld  also  the  amount  she  beheld.  And 
I  cannot  but  remark  in  passing,  that,  to  those 
followers  of  the  Christian  faith  who  are  seeking 
from  their  Scriptures  a  solace  in  the  hour  of 
bereavement,  I  can  imagine  no  greater  comfort 


THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY      185 

than  a  statement  of  the  fact  that  Jesus  once 
accepted  a  costly  offering  as  a  tribute  of 
gratitude  for  annulling  the  separation  wrought 
by  death. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  Jesus  put  more  into  the 
box  than  He  found  there.  This  is  a  case  of 
imputed  righteousness.  Mary  was  doing  more 
than  she  knew.  The  very  form  of  the  words 
of  Jesus  suggests  to  me  that  this  was  in  His 
mind.  '  Mary,  you  wish  your  offering  to  point 
back  to  the  vacant  tomb  of  your  brother ;  but 
it  also  points  forward  to  another  tomb — my 
own.  You  have  meant  your  deed  to  have  a 
bearing  on  the  burial  of  Lazarus ;  it  has  had 
an  additional  bearing — on  my  burial.  You 
have  meant  it  to  be  simply  retrospective ;  it 
has  been  prospective  too.  It  has  raised  issues 
you  have  not  dreamed  of.  You  designed 
it  for  only  a  village  thanksgiving ;  you  have 
performed  a  deed  which  will  be  more  potent 
in  its  consequences  than  all  the  conquests  of 
Csesar.' 

What,  then,  was  this  deed  ?  What  was  that 
good   work  which  she  wrought  in  Jesus?     If 


i86     THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY 

you  would  arrive  at  the  answer,  remember 
what  was  at  this  time  the  deepest  thought  of 
His  mind.  It  was  what  He  calls  His  burial, 
by  which  He  means  the  coming  of  death. 
Remember  that  at  the  very  moment  when 
He  was  preparing  His  disciples  for  the  great 
catastrophe,  there  was  a  side  of  that  catastrophe 
which  to  Himself  was  still  dark — a  side  of  which 
He  could  not  yet  say, '  O  death,  where  is  thy 
sting  1  O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ! '  What 
it  was  we  have  seen  before  and  shall  see  again. 
Meantime,  it  is  sufficient  to  remind  you  that 
death  for  Him  had  still  a  valley,  still  a  shadow. 
You  will  remember  also  what  I  have  pointed 
out  as  the  law  of  man's  nature  and  pre- 
eminently a  law  of  the  nature  of  Jesus — that 
the  best  help  for  a  valley  and  a  shadow  is  a 
previous  joy.  We  have  seen  how  it  was  after 
a  great  joy  that  Jesus  took  up  the  burden  of 
the  labouring  and  the  heavy-laden.  We  have 
seen  how  it  was  after  a  great  joy — His  Trans- 
figuration joy — that  He  set  His  face  steadfastly 
to  go  to  the  dreaded  Jerusalem.  And  now 
there  comes   to    Him   the    same    preliminary 


THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY     187 

stimulus.  The  devotion  of  this  woman  was 
h'ke  a  draught  of  strong  wine,  like  a  blast  of 
military  music.  It  strengthened  Jesus  for  the 
battle.  It  did  not  make  clearer  the  dark  side 
of  the  sepulchre,  but  it  lifted  the  eye  of  Jesus 
to  the  side  which  was  not  dark.  It  said,  '  Your 
Father  has  already  accepted  from  you  a  few 
flowers  which  will  not  wither  even  when  planted 
on  your  grave ;  even  in  the  depth  of  His  winter 
you  have  brought  some  bloom  to  the  heart  of 
your  Father.' 

Therefore  it  was  that  Jesus  said,  'She  has 
done  me  good ;  she  has  strengthened  me  for 
my  burial.'  She  had  not  His  burial  in  her 
mind ;  but  without  meaning  it  she  braced 
Him  for  His  destiny.  Without  such  gleams 
of  light  Jesus  would  have  broken  down  before 
the  time ;  we  shall  prove  this  in  the  sequel. 
Without  such  gleams  of  light  we  should  all 
break  down  before  the  time.  We  do  not 
reach  our  destiny  by  the  strength  with  which 
we  started ;  we  should  never  come  near  the 
goal  but  for  the  alabaster  boxes  which,  by 
seeming  accident,  meet  us  on  the  way.      No 


1 88     THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY 

wonder  Jesus  imputes  to  this  box  more  than 
was  in  it!  There  was  in  it  only  the  grateful 
devotion  of  a  single  human  soul ;  but  on  the 
strength  of  that  devotion  Jesus  walked  for 
many  hours.  It  propped  up  His  sinking  frame 
— sinking  all  the  faster  because  it  was  carry- 
ing a  burden  unseen.  It  spoke  a  word  of 
recognition  to  His  weariness,  of  appreciation 
to  His  sleepless  love.  The  gift  it  bestowed 
was  spent  in  a  few  minutes,  but  its  influence 
has  travelled  to  heaven ;  Jesus  imputed  to  it 
the  whole  length  of  the  way. 


T~\0  so  with  me  also,  O  Lord!  Put  into 
-^-^  my  box  of  ointment  more  than  is 
there !  My  box  holds  very  little ;  but  my 
wish  holds  much ;  impute  my  wish  to  my 
deed !  The  little  I  can  do  is  lost  in  an  hour. 
The  coin  I  gave  the  beggar  is  spent  in 
riotous  living ;  the  substance  I  shared  with 
the  prodigal  is  squandered  amid  the  swine. 
But  when  I  gave  the  coin,  when  I  shared  the 
substance,  I   breathed  a  silent  prayer  too — a 


THE  ANOINTING  AT  BETHANY     189 

wish  of  the  heart  And  the  wish  went  beyond 
the  poor  gift,  beyond  the  meagre  coin  ;  it 
asked  for  the  beggar,  it  asked  for  the  prodigal, 
a  length  of  happy  days.  Put  that  wish  into 
my  alabaster  box,  O  Christ !  Impute  to  the 
mean  offering  not  what  it  gives  but  what  it 
would /«/«  bestow!  Impute  to  the  material 
brass  the  spiritual  gold !  Count  among  the 
pieces  of  silver  the  coins  that  were  only  in 
my  heart !  Reckon  amongst  my  charities  the 
treasures  I  spent  in  imagination  for  Thy  poor 
— the  treasures  I  would  have  spent  had  they 
been  mine!  Put  down  to  my  credit  not  what 
I  gave,  but  what  I  willed  to  give !  Then  shalt 
Thou  say  of  me,  as  Thou  saidst  of  Mary. 
•  Thou  hast  wrought  a  good  work  in  me.' 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE  COSMOPOLITAN  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS 

Jesus  rested  overnight  at  Bethany — probably 
in  that  hallowed  home  where  He  had  received 
the  anointing.  In  the  morning,  instead  of  re- 
turning to  His  retreat,  He  proceeded  towards 
Jerusalem.  And  as  He  drew  near  Jerusalem 
there  awaited  Him  a  surprise.  It  was  close 
upon  the  time  of  the  Passover,  and  the 
metropolis  was  being  filled  from  all  quarters. 
But  it  seemed  as  if  the  Passover  itself  had 
become  of  secondary  interest.  Instead  of 
saying,  'The  Feast  is  drawing  near,'  men 
said,  'Jesus  is  drawing  near.'  As  the  report 
of  His  proximity  spread  it  was  felt  that  He 
would  come  to  the  Passover.  The  expecta- 
tion created  a  ferment.  Crowds  began  to 
gather  and  grow  as  the  hours  advanced.  At 
last,  when  He  appeared,  the  excitement  rose 

190 


THE  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS     191 

to  fever  heat.  He  was  surrounded  by  an 
enthusiastic  multitude,  mad  with  admiration. 
Behind,  before,  on  either  side,  a  mighty  crowd 
surged  and  waved  and  undulated,  shouting, 
applauding,  rejoicing.  Each  vied  with  the 
other  in  his  expression  of  loyalty.  Some 
cried  *  Hosannah  ! ' ;  some  apostrophised  Him 
as  the  coming  King ;  some  cut  down  the 
neighbouring  palm  branches  to  make  a  carpet 
for  His  feet;  some  went  further  still,  and 
spread  their  garments  in  the  way  that  He 
might  walk  on  them.  Perhaps  never  since 
the  building  of  the  Second  Temple  had 
so  many  hearts  in  Israel  felt  such  a  thrill 
of  joy. 

I  have  said  it  took  Jesus  by  surprise.  By 
this  I  mean  to  indicate  that  He  did  not  plan 
the  demonstration.  If  I  had  only  the  first 
three  gospels  to  guide  me  I  should  think 
that  He  did\  for  these  place  in  the  fore- 
ground His  preparing  to  ride  into  Jerusalem 
in  an  attitude  of  majesty.  But  St.  John 
corrects  the  impression,  and  shows  that  the 
riding  was  suggested  by  the  enthusiasm,  not 


192  THE  COSMOPOLITAN 

the  enthusiasm  by  the  riding.  What  reason 
had  Jesus  to  anticipate  such  a  reception — 
to  prepare  for  it  beforehand!  The  last  time 
He  had  met  that  multitude  it  had  been  ac- 
tuated by  equal  enthusiasm — but  on  the  other 
side ;  they  who  now  shouted  '  Hosannah !  * 
had  a  few  weeks  before  cried,  '  Stone  him ! ' 
When  Jesus  had  on  that  occasion  withdrawn 
from  Jerusalem  He  had  withdrawn  from  a 
storm  and  on  account  of  that  storm.  He 
was  afraid  for  His  disciples — afraid  lest  the 
few  remaining  flowers  which  He  could  still 
present  to  His  Father  might  be  withered. 
Even  after  the  Lazarus  episode  He  had  not 
gone  back  to  Jerusalem ;  He  had  resumed 
His  life  of  seclusion.  His  present  breaking 
with  that  life  had  not  been  through  the 
anticipation  of  any  triumphal  entry ;  it  had 
been  simply  to  attend  a  social  gathering 
which  had  the  nature  of  a  thanksgiving. 
When  He  was  anointed  at  Bethany  what 
He  felt  was  not  triumph ;  it  was  rather  a 
support  against  sinking.  The  thought  of  His 
burial    was    still    uppermost.      It    had     not 


CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS  193 

occurred  to  Him  to  view  the  Lazarus  episode 
as  the  Jewish  multitude  viewed  it — in  the 
h'ght  of  a  trophy.  What  one  does  for  the 
glory  of  the  Father  is  never  looked  upon  as 
a  source  of  fame.  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  when  Jesus  on  this  occasion  went 
up  to  Jerusalem  He  had  no  intention  of  enter- 
ing the  city  in  any  other  way  than  that  of 
a  private  individual.  The  plaudits  of  the 
crowd  surprised  Him. 

'  But,'  you  say,  '  Jesus  yielded  to  these 
plaudits ;  He  allowed  Himself  to  be  carried 
down  with  the  stream  ;  does  not  that  seem 
an  incongruous  attitude  under  the  imminent 
shadow  of  death?'  Incongruous?  Is  it 
incongruous  under  the  shadow  of  death  to 
dream  of  a  kingdom  that  will  embrace  all 
nations?  Have  we  not  said  that  things  are 
widest  in  the  valley?  Have  we  not  seen 
that  the  nearer  we  come  to  the  foot  of  the 
ladder  the  nearer  we  draw  to  those  wants 
which  are  common  to  all  men  ?  If  so, 
then  the  faith  in  a  cosmopolitan  kingdom 
should  be  deepest  under  the  shadow  of  death. 

VOL.  II.  N 


194  THE  COSMOPOLITAN 

Remember,  Chrisfs  was  a  cosmopolitan  king- 
dom. His  was  not  the  hope  of  a  national 
sovereignty ;  it  was  the  hope  of  a  sovereignty 
which  should  destroy  the  distinction  of  nations 
in  the  brotherhood  of  all  men.  What  time 
could  be  more  appropriate  for  the  proclama- 
tion of  such  a  kingdom  than  the  presence  of 
that  shadow  which  eventually  covers  all ! 

But  there  was  also  a  historical  appropriate- 
ness in  this  yielding  of  Jesus  to  the  hour  of 
theocratic  triumph.  Remember,  He  had  just 
come  from  the  vicinity  of  the  Jewish  wilderness 
— the  old  wilderness  of  His  temptations.  Did 
He  recall  these  temptations — the  order  of 
them,  the  truth  that  lay  beneath  them  ?  Let 
us  try  to  recall  them.  You  remember  how 
three  panoramic  views  passed  in  turn  before 
Him.  The  tempter  said  successively,  'Be  a 
prophet,'  '  Be  a  king,'  *  Be  a  priest'  He  said, 
first,  '  Be  a  prophet ;  manifest  your  glory  by 
heading  a  democratic  movement  for  the  better 
sustenance  of  the  people;*   make  the  stones 

*  The  '  prophet '  among  the  Jews  represented  the  democratic 
movement. 


CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS  195 

bread.*  He  said,  secondly, '  Be  a  king ;  mani- 
fest your  glory  by  a  temporal  dominion ;  rule 
among  the  nations.'  He  said,  thirdly,  *  Be  a 
priest ;  manifest  your  glory  by  an  act  of 
sacrifice ;  cast  yourself  down  from  the  pinnacle 
of  the  temple.' 

And  Jesus  had  said  to  Himself:  'I  will  do 
none  of  these  things  with  such  a  motive.  Not 
for  my  own  glory  will  I  be  either  prophet, 
king,  or  priest ;  but  I  will  be  each  i?i  turn  for 
the  glory  of  my  Father.*  Hitherto  He  had 
been  mainly  the  prophet — the  redresser  of  the 
people's  wrongs.  His  Galilean  ministry  had 
been  chiefly  democratic— for  the  good  of  the 
toiling  masses ;  He  had  been  feeding  the 
multitude  with  bread  in  the  wilderness.  In 
one  sense  it  was  a  local  ministry,  for  the 
wrQngs  of  that  multitude  were  wrongs  in- 
digenous to  a  particular  soil.  But,  as  the  Son 
of  Man  descended  into  the  vale,  the  local  had 
given  place  to  the  cosmopolitan  ;  the  vision  of 
the  universal  king  had  gradually  been  super- 
seding that  of  the  Galilean  prophet.  And  now 
as  He  stood  under  the  shadow  of  death  there 


196  THE  COSMOPOLITAN 

floated  before  His  gaze  the  shadow  of  His 
coming  Empire — an  Empire  which,  like  death, 
should  enfold  within  its  embrace  all  ranks  and 
conditions  of  men.  It  was  this  which  made 
Him  yield  to  the  solicitation  of  the  hour  of 
triumph.  It  was  this  which  impelled  Him  to 
ride  majestically  into  Jerusalem.  It  was  this 
which  induced  Him  to  refuse  the  request  of 
the  Pharisees,  'Master,  rebuke  Thy  disciples!' 
He  wanted  them  to  see  Him  in  a  new  relation, 
in  a  wider  relation.  He  wanted  them  to 
associate  the  cosmopolitan  sweep  of  His  king- 
dom rather  with  this  hour  than  with  any  other, 
to  behold  in  the  fact  of  the  cross  the  promise 
and  power  of  the  crown. 

Now,  it  is  a  very  remarkable  circumstance 
that  from  this  time  forward  the  words  of  Jesus 
become  the  words  of  a  cosmopolitan  sovereign. 
They  get  a  new  ring — a  ring  of  world-empire. 
That  tone  abides  with  them  on  to  the  end ; 
even  the  hour  of  sacrifice  does  not  change  it. 
Nowhere  does  Jesus  address  so  wide  an 
audience  as  in  this  time  of  seeming  limitation ; 
nowhere  does  He  aim  so  high  as  when  on  the 


CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS  197 

steps  of  the  cross.  It  is  no  longer  the  Pharisees 
and  the  Sadducees  that  are  the  theme  of  His 
contemplation ;  it  is  the  united  nations  of  the 
world.  Jerusalem  has  dwindled  into  a  point ; 
Judea  has  contracted  into  a  single  room  in 
the  house  of  the  Father.  Before  the  eye  of 
Jesus  there  flashes  a  new  vision  of  judgment 
— the  judgment  of  nations.  He  sees  the 
kingdoms  of  the  world  divided  as  the  sheep 
and  the  goats  are  divided ;  some  are  on  the 
right  hand,  others  on  the  left.  And  the 
principle  which  is  to  decide  their  position  is 
the  amount  of  their  charity.  The  humanitarian 
nations  are  to  be  in  front,  in  the  van — those 
who  fed  the  hungry,  healed  the  sick,  reformed 
the  prisoner.  The  non-humanitarian  nations 
are  to  be  in  the  rear — those  who  oppressed  the 
poor  and  had  nothing  for  the  criminal  but  a 
chain.  That  is  what  I  understand  Him  to 
mean  when  He  cries,  *  Now  is  the  judgment  of 
this  world ' — the  judgment  that  does  not  need 
to  wait  for  another  world.  Has  not  the  verdict 
been  confirmed  by  secular  history?  Are  not 
the     humanitarian     nations     the     progressive 


igS  THE  COSMOPOLITAN 

nations?  do  they  not  sit  at  the  right  hand 
of  power?  Are  not  the  non-humanitarian 
nations  the  backward  nations?  are  they  not 
left  behind  in  the  march  of  Man?  Truly 
there  was  human  wisdom  in  this  Divine  vision! 

It  was  because  in  Jerusalem  Jesus  saw  the 
want  of  this  universal  humanity  that  as  He 
drew  near  He  wept  over  it.  Twice,  only 
twice,  do  I  read  of  the  tears  of  Jesus — at  the 
grave  of  Bethany  and  at  the  entrance  to 
Jerusalem.  Both  were  cosmopolitan  weepings. 
In  each  case  the  cause  of  mourning  was  the 
same — because  Man  had  not  realised  his  full 
human  destiny.  At  the  grave  of  Bethany  He 
wept  because  the  human  soul  had  failed  to 
apprehend  its  immortality ;  at  the  gates  of 
Jerusalem  He  wept  because  the  human  soul 
had  failed  to  reach  the  idea  of  perfect  brother- 
hood. This  idea  of  perfect  brotherhood  was 
the  thing  which  Jerusalem  required  for  her 
peace,  and  for  want  of  which  she  was  stranded. 
She  had  missed  her  destiny  among  the  nations 
by  thinking  too  much  of  her  nationality. 

And  was  it  not  this  same  moral  which  Jesus 


CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS  199 

meant  to  point  when  in  the  streets  of  that 
Jerusalem  He  met,  the  next  day,  with  a 
deputation  from  another  land  ?  It  was  a  band 
of  Greeks  who  had  come  up  to  the  Passover 
and  who  desired  to  see  Jesus.  In  one  sense 
the  Greek  was  like  the  Jew — he  was  self-con- 
tained. The  Greek  valued  his  culture  on  the 
same  ground  that  the  Jew  valued  his  religion, 
because  it  distinguished  him  from  other  men. 
Therefore  to  him  also  Jesus  pointed  the  moral 
of  self-forgetfulness, '  Except  a  corn  of  wheat 
fall  into  the  ground  and  die,  it  abideth  alone.' 
It  is  as  if  He  had  said  :  *  If  you  want  to  be  a 
great  nation,  diffuse  your  light.  Do  not  seek 
to  keep  your  privileges  to  yourself.  Throw 
them  over  the  wall ;  spread  them  broadcast. 
You  are,  after  all,  only  a  section  of  a  larger 
life — humanity.  Whatever  you  have,  you  hold 
in  trust  for  the  race.  Be  true  to  your  steward- 
ship ;  be  true  to  your  universal  mission.  You 
will  stand  at  the  right  hand  among  the  nations 
when  you  realise  that  your  culture  is  for  the 
service  of  Man.' 

And  when  we   reach   that   marvellous  dis- 


200  THE  COSMOPOLITAN 

course  of  Jesus  reported  in  St.  Matthew  xxiv., 
wherein  He  casts  a  prophetic  eye  over  the 
page  of  unwritten  history,  what  do  we  find? 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  expound  that  passage;  I 
do  not  offer  you  any  exposition  of  it ;  I  leave 
that  to  the  commentators.  But,  whatever  be 
the  reading  of  the  mystery,  one  thing  at  least 
is  clear — and  that  is  the  central  thing.  Jesus 
meant  to  say  that  there  would  never  be  peace 
among  the  nations  of  the  world  until  the  sign 
of  the  Son  of  Man  appeared  in  heaven.  There 
would  be  no  rest  until  then.  Until  then  the 
sun  would  be  darkened  and  the  moon  would 
refuse  her  light  and  the  stars  would  fall  from 
the  sky  and  the  powers  of  the  firmament 
would  be  shaken.  There  would  be  wars  and 
rumours  of  war ;  there  would  be  famine  and 
pestilence  and  earthquake  in  many  lands. 
But  when  the  sign  of  the  Son  of  Man  should 
arise  in  heaven  there  would  be  a  great  calm ; 
a  voice  would  say  to  the  nations,  '  Peace,  be 
still!' 

What  was  this  sign  of  the  Son  of  Man  in 
heaven  ?     It  was  the  cross  in  high  places — the 


CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS  201 

spirit  of  unselfishness  among  the  great  nations. 
Heaven  is  the  prophetic  symbol  for  majesty ; 
the  'sign  of  Christ'  is  the  cross  of  sacrifice. 
To  see  Christ's  sign  in  heaven  was  to  behold 
humanitarianism  in  the  centres  of  power.  That 
vision  had  never  yet  been  seen — not  in  Judea, 
not  in  Babylon,  not  in  Egypt,  not  in  Syria,  not 
in  Rome.  In  no  land,  however  free,  had  Man 
yet  been  recognised  as  man.  Nowhere  had 
the  corn  of  wheat  fallen  into  the  ground  and 
died.  Nowhere  had  a  nation  realised  that  its 
pride  was  a  thing  to  be  crucified.  Nowhere 
had  an  empire  wakened  to  the  conviction  that 
it  was  a  servant  for  the  common  weal.  And 
Jesus  said  that  without  such  a  waking  there 
could  be  nothing  but  national  tribulations — 
nothing  but  darkenings  of  the  sun,  nothing  but 
rumours  of  the  storm.  There  was  needed  by 
each  citizen  a  cosmopolitan  consciousness — 
the  sign  of  the  Son  of  Man. 

Let  me  resume  the  narrative.  Jesus  by  His 
triumphal  entry  into  Jerusalem  played  into 
the  hands  of  His  enemies.  He  gave  what 
Caiaphas   waited    for  —  a   pretext    for    arrest. 


202  THE  COSMOPOLITAN 

That  pretext  could  only  be  found  in  an  insult 
to  Ronae.  Hitherto  nothing  had  been  done 
by  Jesus  which  could  have  been  construed  as 
anti-Roman  ;  it  had  been  all  anti-Jewish.  But 
now  Caiaphas  might  cry,  'The  Lord  hath 
delivered  him  into  our  hands  ! '  Was  not  this 
triumphal  entry  all  that  was  wanted  to  serve 
the  purpose  of  the  Sanhedrin  !  Had  they  not 
now  a  definite  ground  for  arresting  Jesus  in 
the  interest  of  the  empire !  Could  they  not 
make  this  incident  tell  against  him  in  the  eyes 
of  Rome !  Why  not  represent  this  as  an  act 
of  revolution !  Had  he  not  headed  a  tumul- 
tuous band  uttering  treasonable  cries — cries 
that  impugned  the  supremacy  of  Caesar ! 
Had  he  not  shaken  the  allegiance  of  the 
people  to  imperial  authority !  Had  he  not 
exhibited  a  spectacle  which  on  that  undis- 
ciplined rabble  must  have  the  effect  of  inciting 
to  rebellion !  Surely  the  legal  pretext  had  at 
last  been  found  for  laying  their  hands  on  the 
Galilean ! 

Yes,  the  pretext — but  not  the  opportunity. 
How   could    they    arrest    Him    without    that 


CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS  203 

Roman  interposition  which  they  did  not  want? 
He  was  for  the  moment  surrounded  by  the 
multitude  ;  they  were  hot  for  Him,  they  would 
fight  for  Him.  True,  it  was  only  for  the 
moment ;  their  fervour  would  pass  away.  But 
so  would  the  legal  opportunity ;  Rome  would 
not  be  influenced  by  a  danger  in  the  past.  It 
was  an  awkward  situation.  They  were  saved 
by  an  act  of  treachery  in  the  camp  of  Jesus — 
an  act  perpetrated  by  a  member  of  that  first 
league  of  pity  which  had  hitherto  clung  to 
Him  through  every  change  of  fortune.  I  will 
not  tarnish  the  picture  of  the  multitude's  en- 
thusiasm by  introducing  the  miscreant  here. 


OTILL  make  Thine  entrance  into  our  cities, 
**-'  O  Lord !  Our  cities  need  Thee  yet. 
There  is  much  in  our  Jerusalems  that  might 
well  draw  Thy  tears.  Every  good  citizen  cries 
for  '  Him  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord.'  The  members  of  our  crafts  and  guilds 
are  not  adequate  to  their  work  until  they  see 
Thee  in  the  gate.     Our  young   men   are   un- 


204     THE  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  JESUS 

worthy  of  their  youth  until  they  see  Thee  in 
the  gate.  Our  women  fall  beneath  their  sex 
until  they  see  Thee  in  the  gate.  Our  mothers 
have  no  ideal  for  their  children  until  they  see 
Thee  in  the  gate.  Our  children  have  no  glory 
in  their  picture-book  until  they  see  Thee  in  the 
gate.  Stand  in  the  gate,  O  Christ !  Stand 
till  the  crowds  gather ;  stand  till  the  toilers 
gaze ;  stand  till  through  our  streets  we  make 
for  Thee  a  way !  Our  cities  shall  flourish  like 
the  palm-tree  when  the  branches  of  the  palm 
shall  be  strewn  for  Thee. 


CHAPTER  XV 

JUDAS 

Scarcely  had  the  echoes  of  the  multitude 
died  away  when  there  stood  at  the  door  of 
the  high  priest  an  unwonted  visitor.  His 
name  was  Judas  Iscariot.  He  was  one  of  the 
innermost  circle  of  the  Galilean  band.  He  was 
not  only  a  member  of  the  original  league  ;  he 
was  treasurer  of  the  company's  funds.  It  was 
a  post  requiring  some  culture  and  more  shrewd- 
ness ;  and  it  was  doubtless  these  qualities 
that  had  commended  him  for  the  situation. 

What  is  it  that  brings  this  man  to  the  door 
of  the  high  priest?  Has  he  come  with  over- 
tures from  Jesus  ?  Has  he  brought  from  his 
Master  a  proposal  of  alliance  with  the  San- 
hedrin?  I  can  imagine  such  a  hope  to  have 
flashed  through  the  heart  of  Caiaphas.  I  am 
sure  he  would  have  welcomed  such  a  sugges- 

206 


2o6  JUDAS 

tion.  A  Christ  who  would  support  the  king- 
dom  of  the  theocracy  instead  of  the  king- 
dom of  God  would  have  been  to  him  a 
valuable  ally.  But  in  his  wildest  dreams 
Caiaphas  had  never  hoped  for  what  he  was 
about  to  receive.  Judas  stands  before  him 
and  says  :  '  I  am  come  to  extricate  you  from 
all  your  difficulties.  You  wish  to  secure  the 
person  of  the  Galilean  without  foreign  aid, 
without  domestic  bloodshed.  You  may ;  you 
can.  I  have  the  power  to  give  you  what  you 
wish.  I  can  point  to  the  day  and  the  hour 
when  you  will  find  him  unbefriended,  alone. 
What  price  will  you  put  upon  a  service  so 
essential  to  your  peace  ? ' 

Now,  it  is  my  opinion  that  Caiaphas  would 
have  acceded  to  almost  any  sum.  It  was  his 
interest,  however,  to  minimise  the  service. 
The  priesthood  of  Israel  ought  not  to  seem 
afraid.  He  therefore  makes  light  of  the  offer. 
He  determines  in  his  own  mind  that  he  will 
begin  by  proposing  the  lowest  sum,  and  rise 
in  the  scale  in  proportion  to  the  demands  of 
Judas.      Starting  from  the  foot  of  the  ladder 


JUDAS  207 

he  offers  at  first  the  market  price  of  a  slave — 
thirty  pieces  of  silver.  He  must  have  laughed 
inwardly  when  he  offered  it,  and  must  have 
waited  to  hear  Judas  laugh  outwardly.  To 
his  astonishment,  to  the  astonishment  of  all 
posterity,  the  outward  laugh  was  never  uttered. 
Judas  never  makes  a  demur,  never  suggests 
that  his  possession  is  worth  more.  He  seems 
quite  oblivious  of  the  value  of  what  he  offers. 
He  proposes  no  rise  in  his  demand.  He 
plants  his  foot  upon  the  lowest  round  and 
holds  it  there ;  he  accepts  the  contemptible 
sum — thirty  pieces  of  silver ! 

Yet  Judas  was  a  covetous  man.  If  ever  a 
man  knew  the  value  of  money,  Judas  knew  it. 
He  had  been  for  some  time  suspected  of  com- 
mercial dishonesty.  The  love  of  gold  had 
been  too  strong  for  him.  It  had  led  him  into 
nefarious  transactions.  One  of  his  brethren  in 
the  league,  in  plain  language,  calls  him  *  a  thief,' 
and  suggests  that  he  appropriated  the  dona- 
tions to  the  poor.  Yet  this  is  the  man  who, 
in  exchange  for  the  most  valuable  information 
—information  whose  value  he  had  thoroughly 


2o8  JUDAS 

estimated,  accepted  without  murmur  the 
market  price  of  a  slave  ! 

This  fact  has  led  me  to  two  conclusions — 
first,  however  covetous  Judas  may  have  been, 
covetousness  was  not  his  motive  for  the  be- 
trayal of  Jesus ;  and,  second,  he  wished  it  to 
be  thought  that  covetousness  ivas  his  motive.  If 
you  come  to  my  conclusion  on  the  first  point 
you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  appreciating  the 
second.  We  have  to  consider,  first,  the  real 
motive  for  the  betrayal,  and  then,  why  Judas 
pretended  to  act  from  a  different  motive. 

Judas  never  sold  his  Lord  with  the  view  of 
obtaining  thirty  pieces  of  silver.  The  very 
badness  of  the  man  prevents  such  a  supposi- 
tion ;  it  is  inconsistent  with  his  past  avarice. 
The  acceptance  of  so  small  a  sum  is  conclu- 
sive to  my  mind  that  money  was  not  in  the 
question.  I  believe  the  mind  of  Judas  to  have 
been  at  this  time  animated  by  a  passioji ;  this 
alone  suits  our  Lord's  description,  '  I  have 
chosen  you  twelve,  and  one  of  you  is  subject 
to  diabolic  influences.'  A  diabolic  or  de- 
moniacal   influence    was    a  passion.      It    was 


JUDAS  209 

something  which  swept  over  the  mind  in  gusts, 
which  operated  drastically,  which  took  captive 
the  will.  Avarice  is  not  such  a  state.  It  is 
not  a  passion  ;  it  is  rather  the  want  of  passion. 
It  does  not  come  in  gusts ;  it  is  a  permanent 
state  of  the  heart  existing  equally  at  all  times. 
I  am  not  denying  that  avarice  was  a  quality  of 
Judas.  What  I  maintain  is  that  he  must  have 
had  another  bad  quality  of  a  different  kind,  of 
a  more  violent  and  intermittent  kind.  Every- 
thing about  the  narrative  shows  that  the 
motive  which  led  him  to  the  betrayal  was  one 
which  took  possession  of  his  mind  periodically, 
almost  spasmodically.  It  came  to  him  at 
certain  times  and  in  certain  places.  It  was 
not  an  atmosphere  which  permeated  all  his 
actions  as  his  avarice  did.  Rather  did  it 
come  to  him  in  special  currents  and  break 
upon  him  in  peculiar  storms.^  The  thirty 
pieces  of  silver  will  not  explain  the  deed  of 
Judas. 

What,  then,  does  explain  it  ?     We  have  seen 

^  The  language  of  St.  John  xiii.  27  seems  to  bear  out  this 
view. 

VOL.  II.  O 


2IO  JUDAS 

that  it  came  from  a  passion — a  passion  that 
took  the  form  of  a  Satanic  impulse,  a  passion 
which  arose  at  periodic  intervals,  and  which 
in  the  moment  of  its  coming  overmastered 
the  will,  and  possessed  the  heart.  Is  there  a 
passion  in  the  human  soul  that  will  correspond 
to  these  conditions  ?  I  know  of  only  one — 
jealousy.  It  is  the  root  of  malice  and  hatred 
and  envy  and  all  uncharitableness.  The  passion 
of  drink  has  wrought  many  evils ;  but  they 
have  not  been  the  result  of  deliberation.  The 
passion  of  anger  has  kindled  deadly  fires  ;  but 
we  never  associate  it  with  that  which  is  mean 
or  malign.  But  jealousy  is  a  lurid  power,  an 
underground  power.  It  works  in  the  mine ; 
it  undermines.  It  is  a  subterranean  fire  that 
can  burn  invisibly,  stealthily.  It  feeds  upon 
its  own  flame.  Anger  exhausts  itself  by  its 
very  exercise ;  jealousy  is  quickened  by  the 
spending  of  its  gall ! 

Now,  I  believe  this  to  have  been  the  passion 
of  Judas.  I  think  his  jealousy  was  deeper 
than  his  avarice — it  was,  I  think,  the  roa/  of 
his  avarice.      What   I  conceive   him   to   have 


JUDAS  211 

said  to  his  own  heart  is  something  like  this  •. 
*  I  feel  that  my  merits  in  this  community  have 
not  been  properly  recognised.  I  have  done 
more  physical  work  than  any  man  of  the 
league;  I  have  gathered  and  disbursed  the 
material  funds  of  the  company.  But  my  work 
has  been  disparaged  because  it  is  physical. 
Men  without  half  my  talent  are  set  above  me 
because  they  are  said  to  possess  a  vapoury 
thing  called  spirituality.  Peter  is  looked  up 
to  as  a  ringleader.  James  and  John  are  called 
pillars,  Philip  and  Andrew  get  the  honour 
of  introducing  the  Greeks.  But  I  am  left 
among  the  inferiors  of  the  band — I,  who  am 
equal  to  the  best  of  them  !  My  work,  for- 
sooth, is  only  physical ;  it  does  not  entitle  me 
to  be  taken  up  to  the  mount  with  the  pillar 
brothers.  I  should  like  to  show  the  league 
what  they  would  be  without  the  physical.  They 
look  down  upon  mere  financial  talent ;  where 
would  they  be  without  finance!  If  I  were  to 
become  the  rich  man  of  the  company,  I  might 
teach  them  not  to  depreciate  the  gift  of  finding 
gold.      I  should   then    pass  from  the  rear  to 


2ia  JUDAS 

the  van.  I  should  make  this  proud  upper 
circle  feel  their  dependence  on  me  for  bread  ; 
the  men  of  the  mount  would  find  that  they 
had  to  seek  their  subsistence  from  the  man 
on  the  plain  !  * 

Such  is  my  analysis  of  the  mind  of  Judas. 
I  believe  the  spirit  of  jealousy  was  the  great 
incentive  to  the  spirit  of  avarice.  I  do  not 
think  that  originally  his  discontent  extended 
to  the  Master.  He  must  have  often  heard 
Jesus  rebuke  the  ambition  of  His  disciples, 
and  it  must  have  been  balm  to  him.  His 
first  design  was  to  outshine  the  upper  circle. 
He  strove  to  gain  that  end  by  getting  rich. 
His  mode  of  getting  rich  was  the  purloining 
of  the  missionary  funds.  By  and  by,  dark 
suspicions  arose ;  at  last,  one  day,  detection 
came.  And  then  in  no  measured  terms  must 
have  fallen  the  rebuke  of  the  Master;  and 
Judas  himself  must  have  seen  that  within  the 
circle  of  that  band  his  must  be  for  ever  only 
a  servant's  place. 

This  Judas  could  not  brook.  Before  he 
would  consent  to  take,  in  the  band,  the  position 


JUDAS  213 

of  a  permanent  subordinate  he  resolved  to 
break  up  the  band  altogether.  I  believe  this 
was  his  real  motive.  There  are  some  mean 
natures  who  would  rather  see  a  thing  destroyed 
than  have  another  get  it  instead  of  them. 
Judas  was  one  of  these.  He  sought  the  arrest 
of  Jesus  as  the  only  available  means  of  break- 
ing up  the  league  of  pity.  The  death  of  Jesus, 
the  personal  suffering  of  Jesus,  was  no  part 
of  his  programme  ;  his  object  in  smiting  the 
shepherd  was  that  the  sheep  might  be  scattered. 
He  was  actuated  by  jealousy.  He  saw  a  boat 
sailing  over  a  very  pleasant  sea,  and  he  was 
himself  forbidden  to  enter  it.  He  resolved 
that  since  he  was  forbidden  nobody  else  should 
enter  it  —  that  he  would  forthwith  sink  it 
That  was  his  motive — a  dastardly  motive,  a 
contemptibly  mean  motive,  yet  a  motive  in 
its  nature  radically  distinct  from  the  actual 
avarice  for  gold. 

But  now,  if  Judas  was  to  receive  any  future 
favour  from  the  priesthood,  it  was  essential 
that  this  motive  should  be  concealed.  It  was 
no  compliment  to  that  body  that  a  man  should 


214  JUDAS 

say,  '  I  reject  the  service  of  Jesus,  because  I 
have  been  refused  promotion  in  it'  That  was 
practically  to  state  that  he  was  still  in  prin- 
ciple an  adherent  of  that  hated  sect  which  had 
been  founded  by  the  Galilean.  A  man  with 
the  business  talents  of  Judas  might  expect  pro- 
motion  in  a  worldly  sphere  like  that  of  the 
Jewish  theocracy.  It  would  be  shutting  the 
door  upon  himself  to  say  that  he  had  not 
really  returned  to  a  conviction  of  the  national 
faith,  but  had  only  yielded  to  the  expediency 
of  the  hour.  Judas  felt  that  it  would  be  better 
to  assume  another  motive — a  motive  which 
should  indicate  a  change  of  Christian  conviction. 
Jealousy  did  not  indicate  a  change  of  con- 
viction ;  it  rather  suggested  that  the  longing 
for  the  old  cause  still  was  there.  But  avarice, 
the  sordid  love  of  gold,  the  greed  of  personal 
gain — this  was  a  motive  which  would  at  once 
relieve  a  man  from  the  charge  of  sympathy 
with  Jesus  !  Judas  said  :  '  I  will  dissimulate. 
I  will  represent  a  cause  for  my  deed,  different 
from  the  real  one.  I  will  suggest  to  the  chief 
priests  a  motive  which  they,  of  all  men,  will 


JUDAS  ai5 

appreciate — the  love  of  gold.  Are  not  the  men 
in  high  places  often  guilty  of  selling  the  truth 
for  a  bribe  ?  These  will  best  understand  me, 
will  most  kindly  remember  me,  if  I  put  a  price 
upon  my  service,' 

That  the  motive  of  Judas  was  jealousy  is  to 
my  mind  made  clear  by  one  passage,  St.  Luke 
xxii.  21-24.  Jesus  is  there  telling  His  disciples 
of  the  man  who  would  betray  Him.  Suddenly 
He  turns  round  and  points  a  moral  to  the 
disciples  themselves  (verse  25  and  seq.^.  And 
the  reason  of  the  transition  is  explained  by  the 
evangelist  in  verse  24 :  '  there  was  also  a  strife 
among  them  who  should  be  the  greatest.'  If 
you  so  emphasise  the  word  '  them '  you  will  get 
a  flood  of  meaning  on  the  passage.  Will  it  not 
read  thus  ? — '  Do  not  think  you  are  altogether 
exempt  from  the  danger  of  the  pit  into  which 
this  man  will  fall !  He  has  simply  carried  to 
an  exaggerated  height  a  sin  which  is  present 
in  you  all — a  sin  whose  development  I  have 
watched  with  deep  concern.  Beware  of 
jealousy !  it  is  the  sin  of  him  who  shall  betray 
me.    You  have  the  germ  of  the  same  complaint ; 


2i6  JUDAS 

stifle  it,  suppress  it,  kill  it !  If  you  suffer  it  to 
grow,  there  are  no  bounds  to  its  possibilities  ; 
it  may  stretch  between  you  and  the  sun,  and 
eclipse  the  light  of  heaven  ! ' 

The  betrayal  by  Judas  is,  indeed,  to  all  of  us 
a  very  solemn  incident.  It  shows  us  that  no 
religious  environment  will  suffice  to  make  a 
man  religious.  The  environment  of  Judas  was 
perfect  Side  by  side  with  Jesus  from  the 
beginning,  auditor  of  all  His  words,  witnesser 
of  all  His  deeds,  recipient  even  of  His  personal 
ordination  to  the  service  of  humanity,  this  man 
had  everything  given  to  him  which  could  be 
given  from  the  outside.  He  had  more  oppor- 
tunities of  being  with  Jesus  than  any  of  the 
others.  His  office  of  treasurer  to  the  company 
was  one  which  involved  frequent  interviews 
with  the  Master.  Never  was  a  man  so  privi- 
leged ;  never  was  a  life  placed  in  an  environ- 
ment so  Divine !  And  yet,  Judas  did  not 
become  a  religious  man.  His  life  destroyed 
his  environment  as  the  worm  destroyed  Jonah's 
gourd.  I  do  not  believe  that  at  the  outset 
he  was  altogether  free  from  the  promise  and 


JUDAS  217 

potency  of  Divine  grace ;  I  do  not  believe  Jesus 
would  have  elected  him  to  His  ministry  in  the 
absence  of  such  a  promise.  But  the  worm  got 
in — the  worm  called  jealousy.  It  gnawed 
away  the  gourd.  It  vitiated  the  value  of  every 
privilege.  It  made  of  none  effect  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount ;  it  destroyed  the  benefit  of  the 
communion  in  the  desert.  Judas  is  the  finest 
existing  testimony  to  the  power  of  the  internal. 
He  shows  how  powerless  is  everything  else 
unless  supported  from  within.  He  is  the 
strongest  comment  on  the  passage,  *  Keep  thy 
heart  with  all  diligence,  for  out  of  //  are  the 
issues  of  life.' 


T  T  OW  shall  I  keep  my  heart  from  jealousy, 
-*-•*■  O  Lord  ?  Only  by  loving  my  brother 
as  myself  I  can  never  be  free  from  jealousy 
by  fleeing  from  the  prize  I  covet.  Often  in  my 
hour  of  envy  I  have  said  to  myself,  '  Give  up 
the  world,  and  you  will  have  peace!'  I  forget 
that  the  thing  I  covet  is  not  the  object  in  the 
hand  but  the  object  in  the  fancy.     In  vain  I 


2i8  JUDAS 

summon  the  wings  of  a  dove  and  flee  away ;  I 
carry  in  my  lieart  the  glitter  of  my  brother's 
gold  !  Not  by  the  wings  of  a  dove  shall  I  find 
rest,  O  Lord ;  only  by  the  wings  of  Thy  spirit 
— love's  wings!  Not  even  by  depreciating 
the  prize  shall  I  find  rest !  Thou  wouldst  not 
have  me  cease  to  admire  its  beauty ;  Thou 
wouldst  have  me  rejoice  that  its  beauty  is  in 
the  possession  of  my  brother.  I  need,  not 
less  glitter,  but  more  love.  I  should  not  like 
to  reach  peace  by  disparaging  my  brother's 
possession — by  saying, '  It  is  not  pretty.'  Nay, 
rather,  for  his  sake,  would  I  revel  in  its  loveli- 
ness, would  I  admire  it  more  and  more.  I 
would  feel  that  my  brother  is  a  part  of  myself; 
I  would  rejoice  in  his  pleasure  as  a  pleasure  of 
my  own.  If  he  is  taken  up  to  the  mount  and 
I  am  left  on  the  plain,  I  would  not  solace  my- 
self by  saying,  *  The  mount  is  cold.'  I  would 
say, '  I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  a  member  of 
my  body  has  been  invigorated  by  a  stream  of 
Thy  glory.'  So  shall  I  lose  the  jealousy  and 
still  preserve  the  joy  ! 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE    OPENING  OF    THE    SECOND  COMMUNION 

We  are  now  approaching  that  scene,  or  rather, 
that  succession  of  scenes  in  the  great  gallery 
which  I  call  the  second  communion.  The 
first  communion  was  the  feeding  of  the  multi- 
tude in  the  desert.  In  the  former  part  of  this 
book  I  suggested  a  contrast  between  these 
two  epochs  in  the  life  of  Jesus.  The  first  was 
essentially  a  secular  communion — the  giving 
of  physical  bread ;  the  second  was  to  be  dis- 
tinctively a  spiritual  fellowship — a  breaking 
of  the  bread  of  life.  The  first  was  a  descent 
of  Jesus  to  the  multitude ;  the  second  was  to 
be  a  drawing  of  the  multitude  up  to  Jesus. 
The  first  was  initiated  by  the  want  of  the 
crowd.  But  the  second  was  to  have  its  begin- 
ning in  a  hunger  of  the  soul  of  Jesus: 
'  Earnestly  have  I  desired  to  eat  this  Passover 

216 


2ao  THE  OPENING  OF 

with  you  before  I  suffer.'  He  remembers  the 
anointing  at  Bethany.  He  remembers  what 
strength  it  brought  Him.  He  remembers  how 
the  communion  of  one  human  heart  had 
braced  Him  for  His  burial.  Would  not  the 
effect  be  repeated  by  the  communion  of  twelve 
human  hearts  representative  of  twelve  times 
twelve  thousand  ?  The  desire  of  Jesus  was  a 
desire  for  personal  stimulus.  I  do  not  think 
it  was  the  wish  to  say  farewell.  I  do  not 
think  He  ever  looked  upon  the  Last  Supper 
as  a  farewell.  The  consciousness  on  His  part 
was  not  that  of  impending  separation.  He 
did  not  feel  that  He  was  bidding  His  disciples 
good-bye.  He  wished  to  meet  them  for  a 
very  different  purpose.  He  wished,  before 
entering  that  Gethsemane  which  death  still 
held  for  Him,  to  gaze  on  the  few  gems  which 
He  had  already  won  for  His  Father. 

I  have  said  that  in  the  great  gallery  the 
picture  of  the  second  communion  is  not  so 
much  one  scene  as  a  succession  of  scenes.  It 
seems  to  me  to  embrace  four  distinct  stages. 
The  first  is  the   Passover  —  the  communion 


THE  SECOND  COMMUNION  221 

with  the  Jewish  past ;  it  is  the  Feast  prepared 
in  the  upper  room  of  Jerusalem.  The  second 
is  in  the  middle  of  that  Feast ;  it  is  the 
communion  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  where  that 
same  upper  room  becomes  transfigured  into 
the  guest-chamber  in  which  Christ  receives 
His  disciples.  The  third  is  in  the  garden  of 
Gethsemane ;  it  is  the  sighing  of  the  heart  of 
Jesus  for  those  who  are  not  disciples,  His 
longing  to  find  a  place  in  the  soul  of  the 
sinner.  The  fourth  is  the  cross  of  Calvary ; 
it  is  the  communion  with  future  ages  —  the 
sure  and  unbroken  confidence  that  the  death 
from  which  He  shrank  in  Gethsemane  would 
become  His  highest  glory,  '  I,  if  I  be  lifted 
up  from  the  earth,  will  draw  all  men  unto  me.' 
We  shall  see,  as  we  proceed,  how  these  fold 
into  one  another. 

And  first.  Almost  at  that  same  moment 
when  Judas  was  betraying  Jesus  to  the  Jewish 
theocracy,  Jesus  was  cherishing  for  that  theo- 
cracy a  sentiment  of  friendship.  He  was  pre- 
paring to  keep  the  Feast — the  national  Passover 
Feast.     He  had  no  need  to  keep  it.     He  pro- 


222  THE  OPENING  OF 

fessed  to  have,  personally,  transcended  it.  He 
would  have  said  to  all  such  gatherings,  '  I  have 
meat  to  eat  that  ye  know  not  of;  my  meat  is 
to  do  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  me,  and  to 
finish  His  work.'  No  Passover  Feast  had 
'  finished  the  work  '  for  the  Father.  The  killing 
of  the  Pascal  lamb  had  expiated  nothing, 
atoned  for  nothing.  No  priest  pretended  it 
had  done  so,  or  intended  it  should  do  so ; 
it  was  but  a  type  of  what  the  nation  felt  was 
due  to  God  from  Man.  Jesus  had  designed 
to  be  the  anti-type ;  He  had  been  offering  His 
life  in  the  place  of  the  Passover  lamb.  To 
keep  the  Feast  was  for  Hfm  a  work  of  super- 
erogation. It  was  like  entering  a  dark  room 
and  lighting  a  candle  to  peruse  a  document 
which  could  be  read  in  broad  daylight.  Yet 
Jesus  submitted  to  go  back — back  in  the  order 
of  development.  As  in  the  days  of  His  own 
baptism.  He  lit  the  candle  when  He  had  the 
sunlight.  He  resolved  to  keep  the  Feast  of 
His  fathers  because  it  was  the  Feast  of  His 
fathers.  It  is  a  grand  testimony  to  His  dis- 
like of  all  bereavements!     This  Feast  was  a 


THE  SECOND  COMMUNION  223 

poor,  imperfect  thing  ;  yet,  for  His  love  of  the 
past,  He  would  not  let  it  go.  He  would  raise 
it  as  He  raised  Lazarus.  He  would  revivify 
it  with  His  own  presence.  He  would  give  it 
a  new  significance  which  should  make  it  a 
glory  for  ever. 

And  He  did.  In  that  upper  room  where 
He  kept  the  Passover  with  His  disciples  He 
showed  each  of  them  what  a  Paschal  sacrifice 
should  be.  They  had  been  quarrelling  as  to 
which  should  have  the  place  nearest  Himself. 
He  taught  them  by  a  striking  symbol  that 
those  nearest  to  Himself  were  the  humblest  in 
soul ;  He  took  a  towel  and  girded  Himself, 
and  washed  their  feet.  The  evangelist  pre- 
faces his  account  of  the  deed  by  these  words, 
'Knowing  that  He  came  from  God  and  went 
to  God.'  And  many  a  preacher  reading  the 
words  has  pointed  the  moral  thus,  *  Look 
how  condescending  Jesus  was !  although  He 
knew  He  was  so  far  above  these  poor  creatures 
both  in  His  origin  and  in  His  destiny,  He 
yet  stooped  beneath  His  conscious  position ! ' 
That  is  not  my  reading  of  the  passage,  nor  my 


224  THE  OPENING  OF 

moral  from  it.  Where,  think  you,  lies  the  con- 
nection in  the  thought  of  Jesus  between  wash- 
ing the  disciples'  feet  and  remembering  that 
He  came  from  God  and  went  to  God  ?  Is  it 
not  clearly  this? — '  My  course  has  been  humility 
all  through — from  beginning  to  end.  When  I 
came  from  God  I  came  down  ;  my  mission  was 
to  surrender  my  own  will.  When  I  go  to  God 
I  shall  pass  to  Him  through  depths  lower  still 
— through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 
This  act  of  service  towards  you  is  to  me  in 
keeping  with  all  that  is  gone  before  and  with 
all  that  is  to  follow.'  The  clause  is  meant  to 
exclude  the  idea  of  condescension,  to  show  how 
thorougli  was  the  surrender  of  the  true  Paschal 
Lamb.  The  lamb  of  the  Passover  was  offered 
only  once  a  year;  but  the  surrender  of  the  will 
of  Jesus  had  been  made  each  morn  and  even. 

All  this  took  place  at  the  beginning  of  the 
meal ;  the  phrase  in  our  version,  '  supper  being 
ended,'  is  a  very  improbable  reading.  Gradu- 
ally, as  the  evening  advanced,  the  meal 
acquired  a  fresh  meaning.  The  associations  of 
the  past  seemed  to  fade  from  it     Moment  by 


THE  SECOND  COMMUNION  225 

moment  it  lost  its  national  character;  it  be- 
came a  banquet  for  the  hour.  Its  interest 
began  to  centre  in  a  single  life.  One  form 
took  precedence  of  all  history,  one  figure 
towered  over  all  time  ;  it  was  that  of  the  Man 
of  Galilee !  There  was  no  change  in  the  en- 
vironment. It  was  the  same  room,  the  same 
furniture,  the  same  provision  for  the  Feast. 
Yet  to  the  eye  of  these  disciples  it  seemed  as  if 
the  Passover  had  passed  away,  and  as  if  they 
were  sitting  at  a  new  Feast — the  Feast  of  the 
Lord  Jesus ! 

By-and-by  Judas  quits  the  party.  He  had 
probably  in  the  course  of  conversation  learned 
the  purpose  of  Jesus  to  spend  that  evening  in 
the  Garden  of  Gethsemane ;  at  all  events  he 
knows  the  fact,  and  he  goes  to  reveal  it.  And 
then  it  would  seem  as  if  an  incubus  were 
lifted  from  the  soul  of  Jesus.  He,  too,  feels  as 
if  all  things  were  made  new.  From  the  frag- 
ments of  that  Passover  supper  He  inaugur- 
ates another  feast — a  feast  which  He  boldly 
affirms  will  be  observed  periodically  to  the 
end  of  the  world,  and  which  through  all  the 

VOL.  11.  .  P 


226  THE  OPENING  OF 

centuries  will  be  the  sign  of  union  with  His 
name.  With  striking  originality  He  declares 
that  it  is  to  stand  for  ages  in  memory  of  Him- 
self, nay,  in  memory  of  that  in  Him  which  had 
seemed  most  like  disaster  and  defeat — His 
sacrifice  of  expiation.  As  a  symbol  of  that 
sacrifice,  He  breaks  a  piece  of  bread  and  pours 
wine  into  a  cup  ;  '  This  bread,'  He  cries,  *  is  my 
body  which  is  being  broken  for  you ;  this  cup 
is  my  blood  which  is  being  shed  for  you.' 

You  will  observe  how  I  have  emphasised  the 
present  tense — 'being  broken,'  'being  shed.' 
That  is  the  sense  of  the  original.  It  is  often 
explained  by  saying  that  the  vividness  to  Jesus 
of  the  image  of  coming  death  made  it  already 
to  Him  a  present  reality.  That  is  not  my 
view — that  is  not  the  view  of  this  book.  To 
my  mind,  Jesus  speaks  in  the  present  because 
His  expiation  was  in  the  present.  He  was  not 
waiting  for  death,  to  begin  His  work.  Nay, 
previous  to  Gethsemane,  death  was  the  only 
thing  which  was  dark  to  Him,  the  only  drop  of 
the  cup  which  was  mysterious  in  His  sight, 
and  which,  if  possible,  He  would  fain  have  had 


THE  SECOND  COMMUNION  227 

remitted.  The  mystery  of  death  to  Jesus  was 
not  in  the  cloud  overhanging  the  future  life — 
He  had  no  such  cloud ;  it  lay  in  a  cloud  which 
overhung  His  own  work  for  His  Father,  and 
which  seemed  to  endanger  it.  His  work  for 
His  Father  had  been  going  on  since  morning. 
From  dawn  to  dark  He  had  been  surrendering 
Himself  to  His  Father,  yielding  up  flesh  and 
blood  by  a  sacrifice  of  the  will.  From  dawn  to 
dark  He  had  been  giving  His  life  to  God,  seek- 
ing to  atone  for  a  world's  lovelessness.  From 
the  moment  He  took  the  servant's  form  He 
had  begun  to  shed  His  blood,  to  pour  out  His 
life  in  the  work  of  His  Father.  The  Lord's 
Supper  was  to  the  men  who  first  partook  of  it 
associated  mainly  with  the  broken  life  of  Jesus. 
It  got  a  wider  significance  by-and-by.  Within 
a  few  years  a  Paul  could  say,  *  As  often  as  you 
eat  this  bread  you  show  the  Lord's  death! 
But  by  that  time  Gethsemane  was  past.  The 
clouds  had  rolled  away  from  the  Garden,  and 
the  final  act  of  the  tragedy  had  appeared — as 
the  brightest  of  all  the  flowers.  As  yet,  we 
have  not  entered  the  Garden.      We  are  still 


228  THE  OPENING  OF 

before  the  gate.  We  must  not  expect  at  the 
entrance  the  light  which  is  only  at  the  end. 
Jesus  gave  to  His  disciples  the  bread  and  the 
cup  He  had  already  taken — no  less,  no  more. 
He  looked  forward  to  the  future  for  a  fuller 
communion,  '  I  shall  drink  it  anew  with  you  in 
my  Father's  kingdom.' 

And  now  the  supper  is  ended,  and  they  sing 
a  parting  hymn.  Sometimes  after  the  close 
of  a  service  we  linger  and  converse  for  a  few 
minutes  in  the  place  of  its  celebration.  So 
was  it  here.  Between  the  final  song  of  praise 
and  the  going  out  into  the  night  Jesus  speaks 
those  words  of  comfort  which  are  embodied  in 
the  fourteenth  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel, 
This,  at  least,  is  my  opinion,  and  the  opening 
words  seem  to  bear  it  out.  Is  not  this  what 
they  say :  *  I  have  lately  been  preparing  for 
you  an  upper  room  of  communion ;  but  now 
you  are  compelled  to  leave  it.  Such  joys  on 
earth  are  ever  fleeting.  But  let  not  your  heart 
be  troubled  !  I  am  about  to  prepare  for  you 
another  upper  room  where  you  shall  be  with 
me  again  in  permanent  communion.     In  my 


THE  SECOND  COMMUNION  229 

Father's  house  are  many  rooms — not  fleeting, 
as  here,  but  abiding  for  ever.  I  go  to  furnish  one 
of  these  for  you,  that  the  communion  begun  here 
may  be  perpetuated  yonder,'  He  adds  :  '  If  it 
were  not  so,  I  would  have  told  you.  I  would 
have  made  this  a  farewell.  I  would  not  have 
asked  you  to  keep  a  feast  in  remembrance  of 
me  if  I  did  not  know  that  I  should  be  alive. 
But  I  shall  be  alive,  nay,  I  shall  manifest  my 
life.  My  Spirit  shall  be  with  you.  I  shall  be 
invisibly  present  with  you — to  guide  you  into 
all  truth,  especially  to  keep  you  from  all  fear. 
I  will  send  you  my  peace,  which  is  quite  different 
from  the  world's  peace.  The  world  can  only 
give  its  peace  by  causing  the  cloud  to  pass  ; 
mine  can  come  in  the  presence  of  the  cloud.' 

Jesus  was,  indeed,  conscious  at  this  moment 
of  a  twofold  experience — a  simultaneous  peace 
and  pain.  Perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct 
to  say  that  He  had  at  the  same  moment  a 
personal  peace  and  an  impersonal  pain.  It 
was  all  right  with  Himself,  all  right  with  that 
chaplet  of  flowers  which  He  had  already 
gathered  for  His  Father.     He  had  perfect  con 


230  THE  OPENING  OF 

fidence  in  the  preservation  of  those  whom  the 
Father  had  already  given  Him — and  this  in 
the  full  foresight  that  for  a  time  they  would 
desert  Him.  But  there  was  3ipain  simultaneous 
with  the  peace — a  pain  for  those  whom  the 
Father  had  not  yet  given  Him — a  pain  for  that 
world  which  hated  both  Him  and  His  Father. 
It  was  a  grand  thing  that  for  the  moment  He 
could  subordinate  the  pain  to  the  peace^ — that 
for  the  sake  of  comforting  others,  He  could 
bury  for  an  hour  that  grief  which,  though 
impersonal,  was  all  His  own. 

Suddenly  He  cries,  '  Arise,  let  us  go  hence ! ' 
They  issue  forth  from  the  upper  room  into  the 
moonlit  night.  They  pass  through  the  streets 
of  Jerusalem.  They  descend  to  the  valley  of 
Kidron ;  they  rise  again  by  the  western  slope 
of  the  Mount  of  Olives.  They  are  bound  for 
the  Oilpress  Garden — Gethsemane's  Garden. 
Ever  and  anon  they  halt  by  the  way,  and  at 
each  pause  Jesus  pours  Himself  forth  in  words 
not  of  gloom  but  of  cheer — those  words  which 
have  been  known  as  His  '  Farewell  Sermon.' 
I  should  say  there  is  no  note   so  foreign   to 


THE  SECOND  COMMUNION  231 

them  as  that  of  farewell.  Their  refrain  is  the 
reverse — '  Abide  in  me  !  Cling  to  me  !  Never 
let  me  go ! '  There  is,  indeed,  one  note  of 
finality, '  I  have  glorified  Thee  on  the  earth  ;  I 
have  finished  the  work  that  Thou  gavest  me 
to  do!'  Jesus  feels  that  the  active  part  of 
His  day  is  ended,  that  the  night  is  coming 
when  no  man  can  work.  Whatever  future 
service  lay  before  Him  could  not  be  active 
service.  There  is  a  deep  significance  in  the 
words,  '  I  have  glorified  T/iee ;  and  now,  O 
Father,  glorify  me ! '  It  is  as  if  He  had  said  : 
*  I  must  henceforth  be  passive  in  Thy  hand. 
No  more  can  I  work  miracles  for  T/ice ;  Thou 
must  work  Thy  miracles  for  me.  My  time  for 
action  is  past ;  my  time  for  bearing  is  come. 
Hitherto  I  have  been  labouring  for  Thee ;  I 
must  now  be  heavy-laden  for  Thee.  I  cannot 
any  longer  minister  to  Thy  glory  \  minister  to 
my  needy  O  my  Father !  * 

That  is  to  my  mind  the  only  note  of  pain  in 
all  the  song.  I  am  glad  that  it  is  there.  It 
shows  me,  better  than  anything  else,  what  the 
peace  of  Jesus  was  ;  it  reveals  to  me,  as  nothing 


232  THE  OPENING  OF 

else  could  reveal,  the  difference  of  that  peace 
from  the  peace  of  the  world.  It  unveils  to  me 
the  fact  that  the  peace  of  Jesus  is  a  peace 
contemporaneous  with  pain.  It  tells  me  that 
His  attitude  of  mind  at  this  time  was  a  volun- 
tary effort,  an  unselfish  effort.  It  was  a  deter- 
mination to  keep  His  eye  on  the  bright  side 
of  the  picture  in  order  that  the  companions  of 
His  early  ministry  might  see  no  shadow  of  a 
latent  pain. 


T  ET  me  walk  with  Thee,  O  Lord,  on  the 
"* — '  way  from  that  upper  room ;  let  me 
enter  into  Thine  unselfish  spirit !  If  I  have  a 
troubled  corner  in  my  heart,  and  those  beside 
me  have  a  troubled  corner  too,  help  me  to  look 
to  the  side  that  is  not  troubled  !  Let  me  cover 
the  dark  place  in  my  heart  while  my  sad 
friends  are  with  me !  I  can  uncovtr  it  when 
I  reach  Gethsemane — when  I  shall  be  alone 
with  my  grief.  But  here  in  the  public  walk, 
here  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  here  in  the 
meeting  with  men  bearing  their  own  sadness, 


THE  SECOND  COMMUNION  233 

let  me  keep  mine  eye  on  what  I  hold  oibright- 
nessl  Let  me  meet  my  weeping  brother  on 
the  sunny  side  of  my  way  !  Let  me  refuse  to 
look  at  my  Gethsemane  until  I  have  led  him 
through  his  Jerusalem !  Let  me  conceal  the 
place  of  my  pain  till  he  has  gazed  on  the  spot 
of  my  peace !  So  shall  I  be  Thy  disciple  ;  so 
shall  I  walk  with  Thee  from  the  upper  room ! 


CHAPTER    XVII 

GETHSEMANE 

I  AM  now  come  to  the  suppressed  hour  of 
Jesus.  I  can  use  no  other  expression.  I  do 
not  regard  the  grief  of  the  Garden  as  a  sudden 
thing ;  rather  does  it  seem  to  me  a  thing  long 
repressed.  From  the  memorable  day  in  which 
He  is  recorded  to  have  'rejoiced  in  spirit' 
there  had  come  to  Jesus  no  moment  of  un- 
clouded joy.  His  hours  of  brightness  had  been 
purchased  by  keeping  His  eye  exclusively  in 
one  direction  and  ignoring  the  dark  sides  which 
were  none  the  less  felt  to  be  there.  Even  His 
walk  from  Jerusalem  to  the  Mount  of  Olives 
is  a  peace  in  the  midst  of  pain ;  and  the  inter- 
cessory prayer  with  which  it  closes,  rising  as  it 
does  to  heights  of  triumph,  contains,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  transition  to  Gethsemane, 

With  the  entrance  into  the  Garden  the  long- 


GETHSEMANE  235 

repressed  hour  at  last  struck.  The  sorrow 
which  Jesus  had  kept  under  lock  and  key  at 
length  broke  forth  and  filled  the  air  with  its 
presence.  He  had  said,  '  I  have  finished  the 
work  which  Thou  gavest  me  to  do.'  It  is 
when  work  is  done  that  the  sorrows  of  the 
soul  assert  themselves.  Griefs  which  lie  latent 
in  the  time  of  action  resume  their  sway  when 
the  hands  are  folded.  The  sense  of  a  lost 
occupation,  the  feeling  that  we  have  nothing 
more  to  do,  is  ever  the  occasion  when  the 
troubles  of  the  heart  emerge  from  their  hiding- 
place.  This  utterance  of  Jesus,  in  itself  an 
expression  of  grateful  gladness,  is  perhaps  the 
very  key  which  opens  the  gate  into  His  garden 
of  pain. 

Not  in  equal  degrees  did  Jesus  admit  His 
disciples  to  a  vision  of  His  grief  He  allowed 
them  all  to  enter  the  Garden  ;  but  he  took 
three  apart  from  the  rest  —  the  same  three 
who  had  witnessed  His  transfigured  glory — 
Peter,  James,  and  John.  Not  even  these  had 
a  perfect  view ;  He  stood  somewhat  apart 
from  them  also.     Perhaps  we  of  modern  times 


236  GETHSEMANE 

have  a  nearer  view  than  any  of  these.  We 
have  brought  to  our  perception  of  the  Portrait 
an  experience  of  nearly  nineteen  Christian 
centuries.  Ours  is  not  physically  a  front  view ; 
but  on  that  very  account  we  may  have  superior 
advantages  for  being  spectators  in  the  great 
gallery.  The  mind  of  the  Master  is  more  on 
a  level  with  our  experience  than  with  that  of 
the  men  who  watched  with  Him  in  the  Garden. 
These  were  miles  below  Him.  They  did  not 
then  understand  Him.  We  understand  Him 
now  better  than  they  did  that  night ;  we,  and 
not  they,  should  be  the  observers  in  the 
Garden.  Let  us  watch  with  Him  in  this 
hour !  Let  us  take  our  stand  beside  the 
lonely  Sufferer !  We  do  not  need  to  return 
to  a  past  age ;  He  was  then  living  in  our 
present  experience ;  He  was  in  advance  of 
His  time.  Let  us  view  the  shadows  of  His 
night  by  the  light  we  have  derived  from 
Him! 

Let  us  look  first  at  the  form  in  which  His 
sorrow  expressed  itself.  The  forms  even  of 
the  same    grief    are    by   no    means    uniform. 


GETHSEMANE  237 

There  are,  I  think,  three  different  ways  in 
which  the  same  form  of  suffering  may  ex- 
press itself,  and  in  each  of  which  the  pain 
may  have  equal  intensity.  There  are  some 
whose  sorrow  takes  the  form  of  numbness ; 
their  spirit  of  infirmity  becomes  a  dumb 
spirit ;  they  present  to  the  bystander  the 
attitude  of  stony  apathy.  There  are  some 
whose  sorrow  takes  the  form  of  rebellion ; 
they  rail  against  the  system  of  the  universe ; 
they  impugn  the  justice  of  Almighty  God. 
And  there  are  some  whose  sorrow  takes  the 
form  of  effusiveness ;  they  pour  forth  the 
torrent  of  their  grief.  They  do  not  let  it 
drown  their  senses  like  the  first  class ;  they 
do  not  divert  it  into  anger  like  the  second  ; 
they  give  it  outward  play,  they  dwell  on 
itself  alone. 

Now,  this  third  is  the  form  taken  by  the 
grief  of  Jesus.  He  gives  it  full  play.  He 
makes  no  effort  to  hide  it  from  His  follozvers, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  He  is  not  ashamed 
of  it  before  His  Father.  There  is  no  rebellion 
in   it,  no  questioning  of  the  goodness  of  the 


238  GETHSEMANE 

Father;  there  is  simply  an  abandonment  to 
the  sense  of  pain  such  as  one  sees  exhibited 
by  a  little  child  in  suffering,  *  My  soul  is  ex- 
ceeding sorrowful,  even  unto  death,'  '  Tarry 
ye  here  while  I  go  and  pray  yonder.'  We 
see  the  spectacle  of  a  soul  *  in  agony ' ;  and 
the  agony  finds  visible  expression  in  sweat 
that  falls  to  the  ground  like  drops  of  blood ; 
while  His  cry  for  help  rings  through  the 
Garden,  '  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let  this 
cup  pass  from  me ! ' 

What  was  the  cup  against  which  Jesus 
prayed?  The  word  'this'  seems  to  me  signi- 
ficant. It  is  an  antithesis  to  that  other  cup 
which  He  had  given  to  His  disciples  at  the 
Last  Supper.  He  had  no  dubiety  about  that 
cup ;  He  would  not  have  given  it  to  His 
disciples  had  He  felt  dubiety.  Up  to  that 
point  His  course  as  the  expiation  for  the  sin 
of  the  world  had  been  clear.  It  must,  there- 
fore, have  become  dark  since  then.  We  are 
driven  to  seek  a  solution  within  narrow  limits 
— the  limits  of  the  Garden.  Whatever  this 
cup   was   which   Jesus   wanted   to   pass   from 


GETHSEMANE  239 

Him,  one  thing  at  least  is  certain — it  was  in 
some  way  connected  with  the  prospect  of  His 
death. 

But  in  what  way  ?  That  is  the  question 
which  now  opens  upon  us.  It  will  not  do  to 
throw  a  veil  of  absolute  mystery  over  the 
scene.  He  has  asked  us  to  '  watch  '  with  Him. 
Watching  implies  sympathy,  and  sympathy 
demands  participation.  A  grief  which  is  to 
us  an  absolute  mystery  cannot  be  a  ground  of 
sympathy.  *  Could  ye  not  watch  with  me 
one  hour?'  asks  Jesus  in  the  Garden.  Our 
ability  to  do  so  must  be  proportionate  to  our 
understanding  of  the  nature  of  His  sorrow. 
That  is  true  of  every  sick-nurse ;  the  secret  of 
her  watching  is  her  sympathy,  and  the  secret 
of  her  sympathy  is  her  knowledge  of  the  pain. 
If  we  would  share  in  the  vigil,  we  must 
attempt  to  draw  aside  the  veil. 

I  repeat,  then,  the  question — why  did  Jesus 
recoil  from  this  particular  moment  ?  A  great 
modern  thinker  has  not  scrupled  to  render 
His  words  '  My  soul  is  exceeding  sorrowful 
even  unto  death,'  by  the  phrase,  '  My  soul  is 


240  GETHSEMANE 

exceeding  sorrowful  to  die!  The  suggestion 
is  that  the  Son  of  Man  was  recoih'ng,  as  you 
and  I  would  recoil,  from  death  in  the  abstract 
— shrinking  humanly  back  from  the  shadows 
that  encompass  the  silent  land.  Whatever 
view  I  formed  of  the  person  of  Jesus,  it  wo-uld 
be  impossible  for  me  to  entertain  such  a 
thought.  Would  it  be  consistent  with  the 
Portrait,  with  any  expression  of  the  Portrait? 
Here  is  a  soul  absolutely  steeped  in  the 
thought  of  immortality — a  soul  to  whom  the 
other  world  has  always  been  the  real  world 
and  this  the  land  of  shadows — a  soul  so  con- 
fident of  the  life  eternal  that  He  speaks  of  it 
as  something  which  is  begun  on  earth !  Here 
is  one  who,  according  to  the  delineation  of  the 
artist,  has  declared  Himself  to  be  already  in 
possession  of  this  life  eternal,  who  professes 
to  keep  a  reservoir  of  waters  which  will  make 
immortal  the  man  who  tastes  of  them !  Ac- 
cording to  that  same  Portrait  He  has  just 
proved  the  truth  of  His  claim  by  a  marvellous 
and  public  exhibition  of  death's  inability  to 
extinguish  the  spirit !     And  yet,  we  are  asked 


GETHSEMANE  241 

to  believe  that  immediately  afterwards  He 
pours  out  torrents  of  grief  by  reason  of  the 
fact  that  the  valley  of  death  which  He  is 
compelled  to  enter  is  too  dark  for  His  pene- 
tration, and  that  the  shadow  of  death  which 
He  is  compelled  to  meet  is  too  deep  for  His 
piercing!  Surely  the  statement  of  such  an 
inconsistency  is  itself  a  refutation  of  it ! 
Surely,  theology  apart,  the  canons  of  artistic 
interpretation  would  alone  impel  us  to  reject 
such  a  solution  !  The  fear  of  death  itself  will 
not  explain  the  grief  of  the  Garden. 

Nor  is  it  explained  by  the  anticipation  of 
physical  pain.  Hundreds  for  the  sake  of  Jesus 
have  gone  to  the  stake  right  joyously;  hundreds 
through  the  heat  of  their  love  for  Him  have 
been  oblivious  of  their  outward  fire.  Is  the  dis- 
ciple to  be  above  his  Lord  !  The  martyrs  in 
the  cause  of  Jesus  smile  at  the  coming  flame ; 
and  shall  Jesus  Himself  faint  because  of  it ! 
Has  He  not  Himself  disparaged  all  physical 
suffering  when  weighed  against  mental  ad- 
vantage, 'Fear  not  them  that  kill  the  body 
and  after  that  have  nothing  more  that  they 

VOL.  II.  O 


242  gethsemane 

can  do!'  It  is  not  conceivable  that  Gethsemane 
could  have  owed  its  agony  to  the  dread  of 
physical  pain.  Nay,  I  am  convinced  that 
nothing  personal  could  have  caused  the  grief 
of  Jesus,  that  it  must  have  come  from  one 
source  and  one  alone — the  dread  of  an  inter- 
ference with  His  work  of  expiation.  Is  there 
anything  to  suggest  such  here? 

Yes,  there  was  ground  for  a  great  dread. 
His  life  had  been  revealing  to  the  Father  the 
possibilities  of  human  righteousness.  What 
of  that  awful  ^^righteousness  which  His  death 
would  reveal !  I  conceive  Him  to  have  thus 
spoken  with  Himself:  '  Is  my  labour  to  be  all 
in  vain !  I  have  been  trying  to  cotnpensate 
the  Father,  trying  to  give  Him  a  little  joy  in 
the  world  He  has  made.  And  now  there  is  a 
storm  coming  which  will  sweep  all  my  seeds 
away!  The  world  is  about  to  spurn  my 
Father!  The  world  is  about  to  kill  His  chosen 
child !  If  I  am  the  Messiah  of  the  Father, 
nothing  so  bad  has  ever  been  done  before.  If 
I  am  the  Messiah  of  the  Father,  then  to  kill 
me  is  to  trample  under  foot  the  Father's  joy. 


GETHSEMANE  243 

Is  my  work  for  Him  to  be  all  undone!  I 
have  laboured  to  make  Him  glad ;  I  have 
planted  for  Him  a  flower  in  my  heart ;  I  have 
seen  Him  smile  as  He  looked  on  it.  And  now 
the  world  would  pluck  the  flower,  would  wither 
the  flower !  It  would  undo  my  work  in  a  night 
— my  work  of  reconciliation  !  It  would  decree 
the  death  of  purity,  the  death  of  holiness,  the 
death  of  justice,  the  death  of  mercy,  the  death 
of  Love !  How  couldst  Thou  bear  this,  O  my 
Father !  Wouldst  Thou  not  henceforth  bawist 
man  from  Thy  soul !  If  it  be  possible,  let  this 
cup,  the  cup  of  Thy  pain,  pass  from  me  ! ' 

That  is  my  reading  of  Christ's  shrinking 
from  His  own  death.  He  shrank,  not  froin  His 
cross,  but  from  the  world's  share  in  it ;  that 
was  the  cup  He  wanted  to  pass  from  Him, 
He  wanted  it  to  pass  in  the  interest  of  the 
world  itself  He  wanted  to  avert  from  that 
world  the  danger  of  wrecking  His  reconciling 
work.  He  wanted  to  save  it  from  committing 
the  blackest  deed  of  sin  ever  perpetrated  by 
the  sons  of  men — a  deed  which  He  feared 
might  fix  for  ever  an  impassable  gulf  betweea 


244  GETHSEMANE 

the  life  of  the  creature  and  the  heart  of  the 
Father. 

You  will  observe,  all  this  sorrow  of  Jesus 
would  have  been  impossible  but  for  His  con- 
sciousness of  a  unique  moral  purity.  It  is  a 
singular  thing  that  the  hour  of  His  utmost 
humiliation,  the  hour  of  His  'strong  crying 
and  tears,'  is  precisely  that  hour  in  which  His 
consciousness  of  a  supreme  moral  majesty 
blazes  out  most  brightly.  There  have  been 
men  whose  lives  have  oscillated  between  the 
day  and  the  darkness — men  who  have  felt  their 
glory  in  the  morning  and  their  humiliation  in 
the  night.  But  that  the  hour  of  humiliation 
should  itself  be  the  result  of  conscious  glory 
— that  is  a  strange  thing!  It  will  only  be 
found  in  one  experience ;  it  is  a  feature  peculiar 
to  the  Portrait  of  Christ ;  it  separates  His  from 
all  other  portraits.  The  grief  of  Gethsemane 
would  have  had  no  existence  but  for  Christ's 
sense  of  holiness.  Why  does  He  deplore  be- 
yond everything  else  the  world's  state  of  mind 
in  crucifying  Him  ?  Why  does  He  look  upon 
this  prospect  as  the  culmination  of  its   sin? 


GETHSEMANE  245 

Because  it  was  a  projected  murder?  Men  had 
murdered  before,  crucified  unjustly  before.  It 
was  because  this  was  a  project  to  murder 
purity  itself.  Jesus  was  not  simply  an  indi- 
vidual, did  not  at  this  hour  view  Himself  in 
the  light  of  an  individual.  He  thought  of 
Himself  as  an  embodiment  of  sinlessness. 
The  sting  of  death  lay  to  Him  in  the  fact  that 
it  was  the  world's  effort  to  kill  virtue,  to 
obliterate  goodness,  to  wipe  out  from  the 
human  heart  the  handwriting  of  the  moral 
law. 

'What  a  self-consciousness,'  you  say,  'on 
the  part  of  Jesus  I'  The  strange  thing  is  that  it 
is  not — this  is  another  exceptional  feature  of  the 
Picture.  A  consciousness  of  being  holy,  there 
certainly  is ;  but  it  is  unaccompanied  by  any 
egotism,  any  sense  of  self-importance.  When 
we  are  impeded  in  our  breathing,  we  become 
conscious  of  our  breathing,  and  we  realise  its 
value;  but  the  realisation  has  come  not 
through  egotism  but  through  pain.  So  was  it 
with  Christ's  sense  of  His  own  holiness.  It 
woke    through    an    attempt    to    stifle   it.      It 


246  GETHSEMANE 

brought  to  Jesus  not  a  sense  of  superiority, 
but  a  sense  of  solitude.  He  felt  Himself  to 
be  standing  apart.  The  cry  in  Gethsemane  is 
His  cry  for  communion  with  the  world — with 
those  whom  the  Father  had  not  yet  given 
Him,  It  comes  from  a  void  in  His  heart.  He 
possesses  something  which  He  wants  to  share; 
it  pains  Him  to  possess  it  alone.  The  atti- 
tude of  the  world  threatens  to  perpetuate  His 
solitude;  it  is  aiming  to  destroy  both  Him 
and  His  possession.  The  Son  of  Man  is 
menaced  with  eternal  separation  from  the  sons 
of  men ;  and  His  prayer  to  the  Father  is  a 
prayer  for  the  breaking  of  His  solitude.  He 
is  conscious  of  breathing  a  Divine  air ;  but  the 
consciousness  comes  to  Him  not  from  the 
sense  of  majesty,  but  from  man's  effort  to  stifle 
His  breathing. 


"]\  /T  Y  soul,  hast  thou  considered  these 
-'--'-  words,  'Could  ye  not  watch  with  me 
one  hour ! '  It  is  like  the  head-nurse  in  a 
hospital    rebuking    the    sleep    of  the    under- 


GETHSEMANE  247 

nurses.  In  the  great  Hospital  of  Time,  Jesus 
was  keeping  watch  by  the  couch  of  a  sick 
world.  In  the  same  ward,  with  the  same 
patient  to  take  care  of,  His  disciples  had  fallen 
asleep.  He  said  to  them,  He  says  to  thee, 
*  Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  one  hour  ! ' 
What  He  asks  from  thee  is  no  sentimental 
sympathy ;  it  is  sympathy  in  a  cause.  He 
does  not  ask,  'Dost  thou  feel  y^r  me?'  He 
asks,  '  Dost  thou  feel  with  me  ? '  Wouldst 
thou  have  communion  with  Jesus ;  then  must 
thou  share  the  watch  of  Jesus  I  The  com- 
munion He  desires  is  a  community  of  object. 
He  wants  thee  to  have  a  kindred  taste  with 
Him — to  love  what  He  loves,  to  hate  what  He 
hates.  It  is  a  small  thing  to  Him  that  thou 
shouldst  cry  *  Lord,  Lord  ! '  His  question  to 
thee  is, '  Canst  thou  drink  of  my  cup?'  His 
cup  is  to  watch  by  the  sick-bed  of  the  world. 
Canst  thou  join  Him,  O  my  soul?  Canst 
thou  pace  with  Him  the  wards  of  time  ?  Canst 
thou  watch  with  Him  in  the  infirmary  of 
broken  hearts?  Canst  thou  bind  with  Him 
the  wounds  of  the  fallen?      Canst  thou  heal 


248  GETHSEMANE 

with  Him  the  bruises  of  those  beaten  in  the 
world's  battle?  Canst  thou  calm  with  Him 
the  nerves  unhinged  by  life's  fitful  fever? 
Canst  thou  even  keep  awake  through  the 
night  in  sympathy  with  His  vigil  ?  Then,  in 
the  days  to  come,  shall  thy  Father  say  to 
thee,  '  Did  I  not  see  thee  in  the  Garden  with 
Him ! ' 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

GETHSEMANE — Continued 

There  is  one  remaining  question  which  must 
be  answered  ere  we  quit  the  Garden.  What 
was  the  ultimate  issue  of  this  sorrow  of  Jesus? 
Was  His  prayer  for  the  passing  of  the  cup 
granted  or  rejected  ?  It  is  frequently  referred 
to  as  one  of  those  petitions  which  have  been 
denied.  But  a  very  early  authority,  a  man 
who  stands  in  the  very  front  of  the  gallery, 
has  taken  the  opposite  view ;  and  as  that  view 
is  supported  by  the  subsequent  demeanour  of 
Jesus  Himself,  I  adopt  it  without  hesitation. 
The  witness  of  whom  I  speak  is  the  writer  of 
the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews.  He  declares  in 
the  most  explicit  terms  that  the  prayer  of 
Jesus  was  answered,  '  He  was  heard  in  the 
thing  He  feared.' 

Any  one  who  thinks  that  the  cup  from  which 

249 


2SO  GETHSEMANE 

Jesus  shrank  was  the  fact  of  dying  must  find 
in  these  words  the  wildest  of  paradoxes.  If 
death  in  the  abstract  was  the  thing  He  feared, 
then  He  was  not  heard  in  that  thing.  The 
cup  of  death  was  not  averted  from  Him ;  He 
went  out  from  the  Garden  to  the  grave.  It  is 
clear  that,  in  the  view  of  this  writer,  the  thing 
Jesus  feared  was  not  death  in  the  abstract. 
It  was  a  fear  of  a  different  kind — a  fear 
associated  with  the  prospect  of  His  death,  but 
separable  from  it — a  cup  which  could  be  re- 
moved even  while  the  cup  of  death  remained 
Can  we  conceive  such  a  dread ;  can  we  figure 
such  a  cup  ?  That  is  the  question  I  have  tried 
to  answer  in  last  chapter.  I  have  expressed 
my  conviction  that  the  thing  which  made 
Jesus  recoil  from  the  prospect  of  His  own 
death  was  the  fear  lest  His  reconciling  work 
should  be  crushed  by  the  world's  culminating 
sin  of  crucifying  *  the  Holy  One  of  God.'  This 
was  the  danger,  in  the  dread  of  which  He 
breathed  the  prayer,  '  Father,  if  it  be  possible, 
let  this  cup  pass  from  me  ! ' 

Now,  was  this  prayer  answered  ?     The  writer 


GETHSEMANE  251 

to  the  Hebrews  says  it  was.  But,  waiving  the 
writer  to  the  Hebrews,  we  have  a  yet  stronger 
testimony — Jesus  Himself.  We  see  Him  be- 
fore He  enters  the  solitude ;  His  soul  is  filled 
with  heaviness.  We  see  Him  for  a  time  in 
the  midst  of  the  solitude  ;  and  the  drops  of 
anguish  are  falling  from  His  brow.  We  see 
Him  emerging  from  the  solitude ;  and,  lo ! 
all  is  changed !  His  step  is  elastic,  His  eye 
serene.  His  air  confident !  Death  is  nearer  to 
Him  than  ever,  but  He  is  undismayed !  He 
repudiates  the  thought  that  the  surrender  to 
death  is  involuntary.  He  maintains  that  it  is 
an  act  of  His  own  will, '  Thinkest  thou  that  I 
cannot  now  pray  to  my  Father,  and  He  shall 
presently  give  me  more  than  twelve  legions 
of  angels ! '  He  says  it  is  His  own  will  just 
because  He  has  found  it  to  be  the  will  of  His 
Father, '  The  cup  which  my  Father  hath  given 
me  to  drink,  shall  I  not  drink  it ! '  Even  in 
His  moment  of  anguish  He  had  expressed 
His  willingness  to  take  the  cup  of  death 
provided  only  He  knew  that  it  was  a  part 
of  God's  plan,  that  it  was  not  simply  the  will 


252  GETHSEMANE 

of  the  world.  He  had  said, '  If  this  cup  may 
not  pass  from  me  except  I  drink  it ' — if  it  is 
no  human  accident  but  something  designed 
as  a  part  of  the  picture,  '  Thy  will  be  done ! ' 
And  now  He  has  solved  that  question.  He 
has  found  the  taking  of  the  cup  of  death  to  be 
the  will  of  His  Father,  and  therefore  it  has 
become  His  will.  He  has  found  that  this  cup 
is  no  longer  the  cup  He  dreaded.  It  has  not 
passed  from  Him  ;  but  something  has  passed 
from  it.  He  has  been  '  heard  in  the  thing  He 
feared.'  His  prayer  has  been  answered — 
answered  before  He  emerged  from  the  solitude 
— answered  in  a  way  that  makes  Him  come 
out  stronger  than  He  went  in.  Something 
must  have  occurred  between  the  agony  and 
the  exit — something  to  clear  the  air,  something 
to  lift  the  heart.     What  was  it  ? 

In  the  great  gallery  it  is  portrayed  physi- 
cally. We  see  an  angel  flying  through  the 
night,  bearing  on  his  wings  a  Divine  message 
to  Jesus.  To  us  the  interesting  thing  is  not 
the  angel  but  the  message.  Let  us  open  it. 
We  can  only  do  so  in  fancy.     We  have  no 


GETHSEMANE  253 

record  of  the  words  ;  we  are  merely  told  that 
the  message  brought  strength  to  Jesus.  But 
we  know  what  was  the  ground  of  His  weakness. 
It  was  His  pain,  His  sympathy  with  the 
Father's  pain,  in  seeing  about  to  be  perpetrated 
the  culminating  act  of  the  world's  sin.  If  this 
was  the  source  of  weakness,  we  can  imagine 
what  His  message  of  strength  would  be. 
May  not  we  render  it  thus :  *  My  beloved  Son, 
this  moral  pain  of  Thine  for  the  world's  un- 
righteousness is  to  me  the  sweetest  music.  It 
is  the  music  I  have  long  waited  for,  long 
listened  for  in  vain.  It  outweighs  all  the 
discord ;  it  prevails  over  all  the  jarring.  I 
have  brought  Thee  to  this  hour  that  I  may 
hear  Thy  music.  Thy  pain  for  this  dark 
deed  is  itself  my  rainbow  in  the  flood ;  Thy 
beauty  has  condoned  the  deformities  of  men.' 

I  find  such  an  assurance  as  this  quite  neces- 
sary to  account,  not  only  for  the  demeanour 
of  Jesus  immediately  afterwards,  but  for  His 
whole  future  demeanour.  We  shall  never 
again,  in  my  opinion,  see  any  sign  in  Him  of 
mentally  sinking   under   His   sorrow.     I   say, 


254  GETHSEMANE 

mentally.  The  flesh  may  remain  weak  after 
the  spirit  is  willing ;  or,  to  speak  more  cor- 
rectly, the  depression  of  the  spirit  may  tell 
upon  the  body  even  after  that  depression  is 
cured.  In  point  of  fact,  the  only  trace  of 
this  struggle  which  the  future  scenes  of  the 
gallery  reveal  appears  in  the  physical  nature 
of  Jesus.  As  yet  the  physical  nature  has 
exhibited  no  weakness.  His  bodily  strength 
contrasts  favourably  with  that  of  His  disciples. 
When  He  returns  to  the  spot  where  He  had 
left  Peter,  James,  and  John,  He  finds  them 
asleep.  He  had  set  them  to  watch  for,  and 
to  report,  the  approach  of  enemies ;  He  did 
not  wish  to  be  seen  by  these  enemies  in  an 
attitude  of  sorrow.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is 
His  eye  and  not  theirs  that  detects  the  foe; 
it  is  His  voice  and  not  theirs  that  gives  the 
alarm, '  He  is  at  hand  that  doth  betray  me.' 

Then  follows  a  scene  of  dramatic  interest. 
Rome  and  Judea  gather  round  the  Galilean. 
The  one  is  represented  by  the  swords  of  a 
cohort,  the  other  by  the  staves  of  a  Levite 
band.      By  the  gleam  of  torches  the  secular 


GETHSEMANE  255 

and  the  sacred  powers  come  out  in  battle 
array  to  fight  the  Man  of  Sorrows !  They 
have  expected  a  fight ;  they  have  not  dreamed 
that  Jesus  would  have  a  guard  so  small.  Small 
as  it  is,  that  guard  is  prepared  to  do  battle 
— not  in  despair,  but  in  perfect  confidence  of 
victory.  They  are  but  eleven  in  number,  but 
their  Leader  makes  a  twelfth ;  and  that  twelfth 
is  the  fourth  man  of  Daniel's  furnace !  They 
who  go  with  Him  can  receive  no  hurt !  He 
can  cast  out  devils ;  He  can  tread  down 
scorpions !  With  Him  as  leader  the  little 
band  need  fear  no  legions,  no  armies !  Let 
Him  but  give  the  word,  and  they  will  fight,  and 
conquer  !  Already  a  sword  is  drawn  ;  already 
an  advance  is  made  1  Suddenly,  from  that 
Leader  a  word  of  command  does  come  forth  ; 
but  it  is  the  opposite  word  to  that  for  which 
they  have  waited.  It  is  not  the  signal  of  battle  ; 
it  is  not  the  call  to  scatter  their  enemies ;  it  is 
the  awful  mandate,  'Let  us  surrender!' 

A  strange  scene  then  presents  itself.  Amid 
the  gleaming  torches,  under  the  moonlit  sky, 
the  cohort  advances  to  arrest  Jesus  and  His 


2S6  GETHSEMANE 

band.  Jesus  awaits  their  coming ;  but  He 
awaits  them  alone.  In  a  moment,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  league  of  pity  is  dis- 
solved !  With  ignominious  haste,  with  abject 
fear,  without  casting  a  glance  behind  them, 
the  eleven  flee — flee,  to  a  man !  The  higher 
and  the  lower  disciples  are  at  last  united — in 
a  common  degradation;  the  jealousy  of  Judas 
has  its  wish  fulfilled !  They  had  striven  who 
should  be  nearest  their  Leader ;  the  strife  now 
is,  who  shall  be  farthest  away !  It  seemed  in 
that  moment  as  if  the  first  were  about  to  be 
made  last.  Nay,  it  appeared  for  an  instant 
as  if  the  converse  were  to  be  also  true — as  if 
the  last  were  to  be  made  first.  As  the  Roman 
escort  emerges  from  the  Garden  bearing  Jesus 
as  their  prisoner,  a  nameless  young  man  fol- 
lows the  august  Captive  for  a  few  steps  of 
the  way.  It  is  but  for  a  few  steps ;  the  officers 
lay  their  hands  upon  his  garment ;  he  leaves 
it  in  their  hands,  and  flees.  Yet  these  few 
'  steps  were  in  the  track  of  the  Lord  Jesus  on 
His  road  to  the  cross,  and  they  have  deserv- 
edly made  this  young  man,  though  nameless, 


GETHSEMANE  257 

immortal !  He  did  what  the  men  of  the  Garden 
failed  to  do — he  made  an  effort  7tot  to  flee. 
His  admiration  for  Jesus  carried  him  for  a 
few  moments  into  fellowship  with  His  cross, 
and,  spite  of  the  travesty  which  completes  the 
story,  these  brief  moments  of  fellowship  shall 
be  counted  to  him  for  righteousness. 

The  league  of  pity,  as  I  have  said,  was  for 
the  time  dissolved.  It  had  yielded  to  panic. 
True,  the  germs  of  reconstruction  were  there ; 
and  reconstruction  came.  Panic  is  like  a 
flood ;  it  covers,  but  it  does  not  necessarily 
destroy.  These  men  still  retained  Mount 
Ararat  below  the  waters,  and,  when  the  waters 
passed,  they  again  rested  there.  Yet,  for  the 
moment  Jesus  was  more  alone  than  He  had 
ever  been.  On  this  side  of  death  He  never 
met  that  league  of  pity  as  a  united  body 
again.  On  this  side  of  death  He  never  with 
the  human  eye  saw  more  than  two  of  its 
members,  and  on  these  His  gaze  rested  but 
for  a  moment.  Truly,  if  the  fault  of  the  band 
was  great,  it  brought  to  them  the  penalty  of 
a  great  privation ! 

VOL.  II.  R 


258  GETHSEMANE 

Perhaps,  instead  of  wasting  time  in  recrimi- 
nation, it  will  be  more  profitable  to  ask  wherein 
lay  the  weakness  of  these  men.  I  have  said 
they  were  under  the  influence  of  panic.  The 
question  is,  Why?  Why  did  these  disciples, 
who  had  received  so  many  exceptional  privi- 
leges, show  to  such  disadvantage  in  the  hour 
of  danger?  The  common  answer  will  be, 
their  faith  failed  them.  Strictly  speaking,  I 
do  not  think  this  is  correct.  I  believe  that 
at  the  time  of  their  flight  every  man  of  that 
company  had  the  same  confidence  in  the 
power  of  Jesus  which  he  had  when  he  entered 
the  Garden.  When  Peter  drew  his  sword  and 
made  an  actual  assault  on  the  foe  he  was  not 
trusting  in  any  power  but  the  power  of  Jesus. 
He  showed  at  that  moment  very  great  faith. 
Did  he  imagine  that  the  natural  power  of  the 
eleveE  was  any  match  for  the  strength  of  a 
Roman  cohort?  Assuredly  not.  Why,  then, 
did  he  attempt  to  wage  so  unequal  a  war? 
Because  he  was  not  looking  to  the  natural 
power  of  the  eleven.  He  was  looking  simply 
and  solely  to  the  supemzXwxdX  power  of  the 


GETHSEMANE  259 

twelfth  Man.  Every  other  element  was  dis- 
counted. The  weakness  of  his  own  band  and 
the  strength  of  the  opposing  band  went  equally 
for  nothing  in  the  presence  of  the  fact  that 
Jesus  was  there.  Here  is  a  strange  psycho- 
logical study !  In  the  moment  immediately 
preceding  their  abject  cowardice,  Peter  and 
those  beside  him  had  the  most  absolute,  the 
most  uncompromising  faith  that  Jesus  pos- 
sessed an  unlimited  physical  power.  Why, 
then,  in  the  next  instant  did  their  faith  die  ? 

I  answer,  it  did  not  die ;  it  remained  where 
it  was  ;  but  it  was  no  longer  available.  They 
believed  as  firmly  as  ever  in  Christ's  unlimited 
physical  power ;  but  He  had  refused  to  use  it. 
A  new  kind  of  faith  was  demanded  of  them — 
faith  in  an  unseen  force  which  moved  without 
sound,  assailed  without  weapons,  conquered 
without  strife.  They  had  no  experience  of 
such  a  force — such  a  power  of  the  spirit.  To 
them  the  glory  of  Jesus  was  the  glory  of 
manifestation.  They  had  lived  in  an  atmo- 
sphere of  physical  wonders.  They  had  seen 
their   Master   in   visible   contact   with  visible 


26o  GETHSEMANE 

ills.  They  had  seen  Him  heal  the  sick,  cleanse 
the  leper,  calm  the  demoniac,  light  the  blind. 
They  had  believed  in  His  power  to  do  these 
things ;  they  believed  in  it  still.  But  that 
was  a  power  addressed  to  the  senses,  testified 
to  by  the  senses.  That  there  existed  in  the 
soul  of  Jesus  a  power  over  men  which  the 
senses  could  not  recognise,  that  there  lay  in  the 
bosom  of  Jesus  a  reserve  strength  of  miraculous 
energy  which  could  influence  the  mind  of  man 
where  no  outward  hand  appeared  —  this  was 
a  thought  which  they  had  not  yet  conceived. 
It  was  a  thing  they  had  not  been  accustomed 
to.  That  strength  should  emerge  ixova.  physical 
weakness  seemed  to  them  a  contradiction  in 
terms.  They  could  understand  how  Jesus 
could  dominate  the  weak  in  body ;  but  that 
Jesus  Himself  should  become  weak  in  body 
and  still  retain  His  power,  was  an  idea  which 
transcended  the  utmost  flight  of  their  fancy! 

And  yet  within  a  few  days  these  men  are 
to  reach  that  height !  Within  a  few  days  they 
are  to  scale  that  ascent  which  here,  in  the 
Garden,    is  impossible   to   them,   and    are   to 


GETHSEMANE  261 

plant  their  feet  upon  a  purely  spiritual  faith ! 
It  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  facts  of  all 
history.  No  transformation  is  perhaps  so 
wonderful — not  even  that  of  Saul  of  Tarsus ! 
The  transformation  of  Saul  was  but  the  trans- 
planting of  a  fine  intellect  from  one  piece  of 
ground  into  another.  But  within  a  few  days 
these  men  were  to  experience  not  merely  the 
transplanting  but  the  actual  birth  of  an  in- 
tellect— the  transformation  of  natures  purely 
physical  into  minds  whose  bent  was  to  be 
distinctly  inward,  and  whose  belief  was  to 
rest  in  a  house  not  made  with  hands.  Can 
we  explain  this  marvellous  change?  Can  we 
account  for  a  transformation  so  remote  from 
all  analogy,  so  contrary  to  all  expectancy,  so 
inexplicable  on  any  known  principle  of  de- 
velopment? We  can  only  explain  it  on  the 
supposition  that  between  the  night  of  the 
betrayal  and  the  dawn  of  the  new  conscious- 
ness something  intervened — something  in  the 
sphere  of  physical  fact  itself  which  revealed 
to  these  external  minds  the  power  of  the  spirit 
in  the  absence  of  the  flesh. 


262  GETHSEMANE 

■p  ORB  ID,  O  Lord,  that  after  being  with 
^  Thee  in  the  Garden  I  should  desert  Thee 
in  the  public  street !  Often  have  I  been  guilty 
of  that  sin.  I  have  gone  into  Thy  temple  to 
worship ;  I  have  sung  hymns  to  Thy  praise ; 
I  have  breathed  prayers  in  Thy  name.  But, 
when  I  have  come  out  into  the  world,  when 
I  have  seen  the  flaring  torches  of  popular 
and  brilliant  vices,  I  have  yielded  to  the  spell. 
At  such  times,  O  Lord,  send  me  ^wcomfort! 
There  are  seasons  when  Thy  best  gift  is  pain. 
When  I  have  fled  from  Thee,  send  me  Thy 
gift  of  pain  1  I  have  heard  men  say,  •  There 
is  life  for  a  look  at  the  crucified  One.'  Yes ; 
but  to  Peter  the  life  of  that  look  came  in 
bitter  tears.  So  let  it  be  with  me  when  I 
forget  that  I  am  of  Galilee !  Send  forth  from 
Thy  presence  a  Divine  unrest!  Let  the  evi- 
dence of  Thy  nearness  be  my  own  disquiet ! 
Let  the  proof  of  Thy  continued  interest  be 
the  tossing  of  my  soul !  Let  the  dove  find 
no  rest  outside  the  ark !  When  I  imitate  the 
tones  of  vice,  let  my  Galilean  accent  betray 
me  I     For  indeed  I  am  of  Galilee — even  when 


GETHSEMANE  263 

I  flee !  The  memories  of  the  Garden  are  too 
strong  for  me ;  they  pull  me  back,  they  will 
not  let  me  go.  I  cannot  break  Thy  bands 
asunder,  nor  cast  Thy  cords  from  me ;  Thou 
that  sittest  in  the  heavens  shalt  laugh  at  my 
efforts  to  get  free!  Ever  hold  my  spirit  in 
these  golden  bands  1 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  MENTAL  EFFECT  OF  GETHSEMANE 

As  the  stream  begins  to  find  that  its  course 
is  coming  into  contact  with  the  great  world,  I 
must  be  careful  to  avoid  side  issues.  I  must 
remember  that  I  am  not  writing  of  the  world 
but  of  the  stream.  On  the  banks  of  the 
stream  there  will  stand  immediately  the  repre- 
sentatives of  nearly  all  ranks  and  conditions 
of  men.  The  Jew  and  the  Gentile  will  be 
there ;  the  priesthood  and  the  empire  will 
be  there ;  the  soldier  and  the  civilian  will 
be  there.  Peter  and  John  will  be  there  to 
represent  the  apostles.  The  female  gate- 
keepers of  the  judgment-hall  will  be  there 
to  represent  the  slave.  Barabbas  will  be  there 
to  represent  the  man  of  revolution.  The 
malefactor  of  the  cross  will  be  there  to  speak 

for  the  criminal  classes.     Humanity  is  indeed 
aa4 


MENTAL  EFFECT  OF  GETHSEMANE  265 

powerfully  represented  on  the  banks  of  that 
stream  !  Yet  most  of  the  figures  must  on  this 
occasion  be  ignored.  My  subject  is  the  stream 
itself,  and  I  am  unwilling  to  divert  attention 
from  it  by  considering  the  forms  of  men  and 
women  whom  it  passes  on  its  way. 

In  the  previous  chapter  I  pointed  out  that 
something  occurred  in  Gethsemane  to  inspire 
Jesus  with  mental,  as  distinguished  from 
physical,  strength  ;  the  spirit  became  willing 
even  while  the  flesh  remained  weak.  Re- 
serving our  consideration  of  the  bodily  element, 
we  will  here  confine  ourselves  to  the  invigorat- 
ing influence  on  the  mind  of  Jesus  of  that 
message  which  He  received  from  His  Father. 
We  have  seen  that  the  change  from  depression 
to  confidence  displayed  itself  in  the  moment 
of  His  rejoining  the  disciples.  But  it  was  no 
evanescent  impulse.  From  the  instant  it  came 
to  Him  in  the  Garden  it  never  left  Him ;  the 
spirit  of  fear  was  permanently  dead ;  the 
spirit  of  cloudless  confidence  abode  with  Him 
till  the  earthly  close. 

Now,  here  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable 


266  THE  MENTAL  EFFECT 

features  of  the  Portrait  of  Jesus.  Let  us  stand 
for  a  little  in  the  great  gallery  and  mark  the 
contrast  between  His  aspect  and  His  surround- 
ings. The  outward  sun,  the  sun  of  His 
fortunes,  is  very  low.  Never  has  the  environ- 
ment looked  so  dark.  There  is  but  a  step 
between  Him  and  death,  and  that  step  is 
inevitable.  One  by  one  the  trophies  which 
had  greeted  the  morning  of  His  mission  have 
faded.  The  hosannahs  are  hushed  ;  the  palm- 
leaves  are  withered ;  the  friends  of  summer 
days  have  made  their  flight  in  the  winter.  He 
is  standing  before  human  tribunals — mocked, 
reviled,  buffeted.  The  multitude  who  yester- 
day had  spread  their  garments  for  His  feet, 
the  crowd  who  a  few  hours  ago  had  cried, 
'  Blessed  is  He  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord ! '  are  now  shouting  with  equal  lustiness, 
'Away  with  him;  let  him  be  crucified!'  He 
is  betraj^ed  by  one  of  His  innermost  circle ; 
He  is  deserted  by  all  the  others  of  that  circle. 
Literally  at  this  moment  He  is  standing  alone 
— unsupported  by  one  human  friend.  Truly 
the  environment  of  the  picture  is  very  dark  ! 


OF  GETHSEMANE  267 

But  now  comes  the  strange  thing.  In  this 
hour  of  darkness  the  eye  of  Jesus  gleams  with 
an  unwonted  majesty.  Majesty  had  not  been 
its  characteristic  ;  in  the  days  of  His  power  He 
had  been  more  the  lamb  than  the  lion.  But 
in  His  day  of  weakness  the  lion  appears. 
Every  step  of  that  day  is  a  step  of  royalty, 
every  word  the  word  of  a  king.  His  assertions 
of  power  seem  to  grow  in  extent  and  vehe- 
mence in  proportion  as  the  shades  of  the 
prison-house  close  over  Him.  It  is  an  ex- 
perience to  which  I  can  adduce  no  individual 
parallel.  I  know  nothing  like  it  in  the  lives 
of  men ;  I  know  only  one  thing  like  it  in  the 
lives  of  nations — the  experience  of  that  Jewish 
race  from  which  His  human  nature  came — the 
experience  of  that  race  whose  loudest  claims 
to  empire  were  uttered  amid  the  chains  of  her 
captivities  ! 

The  briefest  examination  of  the  facts  reveals 
this  paradox  in  the  life  of  Jesus.  On  the  night 
of  His  arrest  He  is  hurried  before  a  meeting 
of  the  Sanhedrin  on  a  charge  of  blasphemy. 
He  is  asked  what  He  has  to  say  to  the  charge  ; 


268  THE  MENTAL  EFFECT 

He  utters  no  response  ;  He  refuses  to  plead. 
Why?  Is  it  because  the  forms  of  law  have  not 
been  complied  with?  It  is  true  they  have  not 
been  complied  with ;  the  Sanhedrin  could  not 
legally  try  a  capital  charge  by  night.^  But 
Jesus  cared  too  little  about  legal  forms  to  be 
influenced  by  such  a  consideration.  Why, 
then,  in  answer  to  the  reiterated  questions  of 
Caiaphas,  does  He  remain  persistently  silent  ? 
Not  because  He  is  being  illegally  tried,  but 
because,  from  His  point  of  view,  these  men 
had  no  right,  on  this  charge,  to  be  His  judges 
at  all.  I  connect  His  silence  with  words  He 
had  lately  uttered,  *  Henceforth  I  shall  not 
talk  much  with  you,  for  the  prince  of  this 
world  Cometh  and  hath  nothing  in  me!  He 
would  have  said  that  a  man  should  be  tried 
by  his  peers — those  who  have  something  in 
common  with  him.  What  did  these  men 
know  of  the  region  where  He  dwelt — the 
house  of  the  Father?  Nothing;  they  had 
never  been  there.  And  having  never  been 
there,  what  right  had  they  to  judge  as  to  His 

'  Cf.  Acts  ii.  23,  '  Him  ye  have  crucified  by  lawless  hands.' 


OF  GETHSEMANE  269 

truth  when  He  described  the  courts  of  heaven 
and  the  mansions  of  His  Father's  house !  The 
silence  of  Jesus  was  a  silence  of  majesty.  He 
claimed  to  have  direct  communion  with  His 
Father;  and  He  declined  to  have  His  know- 
ledge tested  by  those  who  had  only  received 
God's  message  through  a  sighing  of  the  wind. 
He  demanded  to  be  tried  by  His  peers] 

And  in  point  of  fact  it  is  only  when  Caiaphas 
evokes  a  higher  tribunal  that  Jesus  at  last 
breaks  silence.  When  the  High  Priest  says, 
'  I  adjure  thee  by  the  living  God  ! '  he  summons 
Jesus  by  another  than  any  earthly  authority. 
And  then  in  answer  to  the  bar,  not  of  earth, 
but  of  heaven,  Jesus  makes  that  claim  which 
constitutes  the  most  startling  event  of  history, 
'  From  this  time  forth  ye  shall  see  the  Son  of 
Man  sitting  at  the  right  hand  of  the  power 
of  God!' 

'  From  this  time  forth.'  It  is  as  if  He  had 
said  :  '  I  proclaim  from  this  date  the  beginning 
of  a  new  epoch — a  humanitarian  epoch.  The 
symbols  of  Divine  power  have  hitherto  been 
animal  symbols  *  Judea  has  had  her  lion  and 


270  THE  MENTAL  EFFECT 

Rome  her  eagle — the  types  of  physical  power 
But  from  this  night  I  proclaim  the  advent  of  a 
new  symbol — the  symbol  of  human  sacrifice. 
Hitherto  the  sacrificial  life  has  been  the  de- 
spised life  ;  the  cross  has  been  a  mark  of 
obloquy.  From  this  night  onward  it  will  be 
a  mark  of  glory.  The  test  of  power  will 
henceforth  be  the  strength  of  sacrifice,  and 
men  will  measure  nearness  to  God  by  nearness 
to  me^ 

What  is  this  statement  of  Jesus  ?  It  is  the 
prophecy,  nay,  the  inauguration,  of  a  new 
priesthood.  I  have  called  His  Cross  the 
fourth  scene  of  the  communion.  The  first 
was  the  Passover,  where  He  communed  with 
bygone  days.  The  second  was  the  Last 
Supper,  where  He  held  converse  with  His 
present  disciples.  The  third  was  the  Garden, 
where  He  stretched  out  His  arms  to  the 
existing  world  of  sin.  The  advance  to  the 
Cross  was  the  beginning  of  a  fourth  com- 
munion, in  which  He  was  to  draw  to  Himself 
the  future  ages.  It  had  its  fitting  commence- 
ment in  the  vision  of  a  true  priesthood.     He 


OF  GETHSEMANE  271 

was  now  in  the  presence  of  a  false  priesthood. 
Caiaphas  was  the  foil  that  suggested  by  con- 
trast the  advent  of  a  purer  ministry.  There 
lay  the  sting  to  Caiaphas.  A  man,  a  man  of 
the  secular  caste,  a  man  without  priestly  orders, 
a  man  who  was  only  ordained  after  the  pattern 
of  Melchizedek,  declared  that  he  would  take 
the  place  of  the  existing  clerical  power !  He 
would  raise  the  tottering  temple  of  Jerusalem 
on  a  new  basis — the  basis  of  his  own  broken 
body !  The  High  Priest  rent  his  clothes  and 
shouted,  *  Blasphemy  !  what  further  need  have 
we  for  witnesses,  now  that  we  have  heard 
his  blasphemy  ! '  The  subservient  Council  re- 
sponded, *  He  is  worthy  of  death.' 

The  Sanhedrin  gave  the  verdict;  but  they 
could  not  give  the  sentence.  They  had  no 
power  to  inflict  death ;  that  belonged  to  Rome. 
Accordingly,  the  scene  changes.  Jesus  is  led 
from  the  Sanhedrin  to  the  Praetorium — from 
the  High  Priest,  Caiaphas,  to  the  Procurator, 
Pontius  Pilate.  In  passing  from  Caiaphas  to 
Pilate  He  has  passed  from  the  hands  of  the 
priesthood  into  the  hands  of  the  empire.     It  is 


272  THE  MENTAL  EFFECT 

a  new  atmosphere,  and  the  old  charge  cannot 
breathe  in  it.  The  accusation  which  served 
Caiaphas  will  have  no  weight  with  Pilate, 
The  Sanhedrin  must  transform  the  war-cry, 
'  Blasphemy  against  God  ! '  into  '  Treason 
against  Caesar ! '  Accordingly,  there  is  no 
talk  here  about  the  religious  danger  of  the 
Jewish  state.  In  the  presence  of  Pilate  the 
Sanhedrin  are  only  solicitous  for  the  Roman 
state.  They  charge  Jesus,  not  with  that  for 
which  they  had  condemned  Him,  but  with 
something  whose  gravity  Pilate  might  be  ex- 
pected to  appreciate — the  forbidding  to  pay 
tribute.  What  prevents  Pilate  from  appre- 
ciating the  gravity  of  the  charge?  It  is  the 
seeming  impotence  of  the  defendant.  He 
looks  at  the  meek  and  somewhat  worn  coun- 
tenance of  the  prisoner  at  his  bar,  and,  in  what 
I  take  to  be  an  accent  of  sarcasm,  he  says, 
'Art  thou  the  king  of  the  Jews.?'  It  is  this 
accent  of  sarcasm  which  to  my  mind  explains 
the  strange  question  put  by  Jesus  in  reply. 
He  inquires  whether  Pilate  had  asked  this 
of  his  own  accord  or  been  directed  to  ask  it. 


OF  GETHSEMANE  273 

In  other  words,  I  understand  Him  to  mean, 
'  Do  you  ask  in  order  to  obtain  evidence,  or  is 
it  a  mere  soliloquy  of  personal  amusement?' 

Then  came  the  answer  of  Jesus  to  the 
question  of  Pilate,  and  it  must  have  astonished 
him  still  more  :  '  Thou  sayest  it ;  I  am  a  king. 
I  am  of  royal  blood  ;  I  was  born  to  be  a  king  ; 
I  came  into  the  world  to  be  a  king.  Yet  my 
kingdom  is  not  temporal ;  it  uses  no  carnal 
weapons ;  it  employs  no  physical  force.  Nay, 
it  is  a  kingdom  of  sacrifice — of  obedience 
to  truth  ;  I  am  come  to  be  a  martyr  to  the 
truth.' 

It  seems  to  me  that  these  words  of  Jesus 
must  have  caught  Pilate.  There  is  something 
Roman  about  them.  That  a  king  should  be  a 
martyr,  in  other  words,  that  a  sovereign  should 
be  the  servant  of  his  country,  was  an  idea  deeply 
woven  in  the  constitution  of  the  Roman  state, 
Caesar  himself  was  ideally  only  the  head  of  a 
republic,  and  therefore  in  the  literal  sense  its 
chief  minister.  That  an  empire  should  exist 
for  the  sake  of  a  truth  was  also  Roman ;  Rome 
herself  had  professed  to  live  for  an  idea — the 

VOL.  II.  S 


2  74  THE  MENTAL  EFFECT 

idea  of  law  or  justice.  Pilate  must  have  felt 
respect  for  one  whose  eye  could  thus  commune 
with  the  future  and  recognise  the  permanent 
element  in  the  history  of  nations.  I  think, 
too,  when  Jesus  said,  *  Thou  wouldst  have  no 
power  over  me  except  it  were  given  thee  of 
God,'  Pilate  must  have  felt  a  Roman  pride. 
Did  not  Rome  wish  to  base  her  authority  upon 
the  will  of  heaven !  Was  it  not  her  joy  and 
her  glory  to  proclaim  the  Divinity  of  her 
mission !  Had  not  her  poets  sought  to  trace 
her  origin  to  the  fountain  of  Divine  power ! 
All  this  may  have  impressed  Pilate.  Some- 
thing impressed  him.  He  made  strenuous 
efforts  to  save  the  prisoner.  He  asserted  his 
belief  in  the  innocence  of  Jesus.  He  washed 
his  hands  of  His  condemnation.  He  offered, 
in  accordance  with  a  custom  of  the  Feast,  to 
make  Him  the  pardoned  prisoner  of  that  year. 
Four  times  he  repeated  the  offer;  four  times 
was  he  borne  down  by  the  clamour  of  the  crowd 
demanding  the  privilege  for  another  man. 
The  Roman  and  the  Jew  contended  a  while  for 
the  body  of  Jesus — the  Roman  for  His  life,  the 


OF  GETHSEMANE  275 

JevT  for  His  death — till  the  former  was  at 
length  overborne  by  the  cry,  *  Not  this  man, 
but  Barabbas ! ' 

The  multitude  that  shouted  for  Barabbas 
was  the  same  multitude  which  at  the  beginning 
of  the  week  had  shouted  for  Jesus.  Whence 
this  fickleness?  Had  they  changed  their 
minds?  No;  they  had  at  the  beginning  mis- 
taken Jesus  for  Barabbas.  Barabbas  was  a 
leader  of  sedition ;  they  had  thought  Jesus  a 
leader  of  sedition  too.  It  was  this  that  had 
made  them  strew  His  path  with  palm-leaves, 
and  spread  their  garments  in  His  way.  It  was 
this  that  had  made  them  cry,  '  Hosanna  to  the 
Son  of  David  ! '  It  was  this  that  had  evoked 
their  hymn  of  praise,  'Blessed  is  He  that 
Cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  ! '  Jesus  had 
accepted  their  tribute,  knowing  that  His  power 
was  higher  than  they  dreamed  of;  but,  so  far 
as  their  consciousness  extended,  it  was  only 
a  tribute  to  Barabbas.  They  were  seeking  a 
leader  of  sedition  in  Jesus  or  another  ;  when 
they  failed  to  find  one  in  Jesus,  they  turned  to 
another.     They  saw  in  Barabbas  what  they  had 


2  76  THE  MENTAL  EFFECT 

thought  to  find  in  Jesus — a  revolutionary  man, 
a  lawless  man,  a  man  who  might  lead  his 
countrymen  to  a  kingdom  of  flesh  and  blood. 
Jesus  was  above  their  expectations  ;  He  wanted 
things  too  high  for  them.  Barabbas  was  on  a 
level  with  their  imaginings  ;  he  wanted  only 
purple  and  fine  linen  and  sumptuous  faring 
every  day ;  therefore  the  roar  for  Barabbas 
drowned  the  murmur  for  Jesus  ! 

And  Pilate  yielded  to  their  clamour ;  he 
gave  up  the  Christ  to  die.  Looking  back 
through  the  years,  what  shall  be  our  estimate 
of  the  comparative  guilt  of  Pilate  and  Caiaphas  ? 
to  which  shall  we  assign  the  greater  blame? 
Christendom  both  ancient  and  modern  has 
been  prone  to  give  the  foremost  place  in 
wickedness  to  Caiaphas — to  look  upon  Pilate 
with  a  more  lenient  eye.  In  that  feeling  I 
cannot  concur.  So  far  as  the  condemning  of 
Jesus  is  concerned,  I  think  Pilate  much  the 
worse  of  the  two.  Caiaphas  really  believed 
that  Jesus  would  hurt  him — and,  from  a  selfish 
point  of  view,  he  was  right  in  his  belief;  Pilate 
had  nothing  to   fear  from  Jesus,  and  he  did 


OF  GETHSEMANE  277 

fear  nothing.  The  claim  of  Jesus  before  the 
tribunal  of  Caiaphas  menaced  the  Jewish 
state  ;  the  claim  of  Jesus  before  the  tribunal  of 
Pilate  did  not  menace  the  Roman  state.  To 
Caiaphas  the  attitude  of  Jesus  was  a  serious 
matter  vitally  affecting  the  national  faith.  To 
Pilate  the  attitude  of  Jesus  was  the  subject  for 
a  jest.  Each  of  these  men  was  condemning 
Jesus  on  his  own  separate  charge — Caiaphas 
for  blasphemy,  Pilate  for  treason.  Both  men 
were  to  some  extent  false ;  but  they  were 
not  equally  false.  Caiaphas  was  false  to  this 
extent,  that  he  only  pretended  to  believe  in  the 
treason;  but  he  had  this  much  truth,  that  he 
really  believed  in  the  blasphemy.  Pilate,  on  the 
other  hand,  believed  in  neither  charge ;  he  was 
convinced  that  both  were  baseless.  Yet  Pilate 
condemned  Jesus.  He  yielded  to  a  popular 
clamour — yielded  for  the  sake  of  his  own 
interest.  He  was  there  to  administer  public 
law  ;  he  gave  a  verdict  from  motives  of  private 
advantage.  He  was  there  to  represent  Roman 
justice ;  what  he  did  represent  was  the  lowest 
form  of  humanity  in  any  land — the  class  who 


278  THE  MENTAL  EFFECT 

sell  their  conscience  in  truckling  for  popular 
favour.  The  more  Pilate  was  influenced  by  the 
presence  of  Jesus,  the  darker  is  the  aspect  in 
which  his  deed  appears,  for  there  is  no  sin 
equal  to  a  sin  against  light.  There  is  no 
moral  miracle  of  Christ  which  surpasses  in 
range  of  power  the  fact  that  in  the  hour  of 
His  humiliation  He  could  influence  a  man  so 
sordid  as  Pilate ! 


T  ORD,  help  me  to  see  Thy  power  in  the 
-■ — *  day  when  men  arraign  Thee !  We 
still  place  Thee  at  the  bar  of  our  judgment- 
seat;  we  still  accuse  Thee  before  our  Pilate 
and  our  Caiaphas.  We  point  to  what  we  call 
the  weak  spots  in  Thy  government.  Teach 
me  Thy  strength  in  these  spots !  Let  me 
learn  the  majesty  of  Thy  power  in  the  paths 
where  men  despise  Thee !  Let  me  hear  Thy 
songs  in  the  7iight ;  let  me  see  Thy  bow  in  the 
cloud\  When  Thy  cause  seems  trampled  down 
and  when  I  seem  crushed  along  with  Thee,  let 
Thy  words  reach  my  ear,  '  I  am  a  king ' !    They 


OF  GETHSEMANE  279 

can  only  reach  my  ear  by  reaching  my  heart. 
I  shall  know  Thy  strength  by  my  strength.  I 
shall  know  Thy  strength  by  my  unaccountable 
peace,  by  my  inexplicable  calm.  I  shall  know 
it  '  by  the  gleam  and  glitter  of  the  golden  chain 
I  wear' — the  gleam  and  glitter  that  have  come 
from  the  furnace  of  fire.  I  shall  know  it  by 
the  Pisgah  heights  that  greet  the  declining  sun, 
by  the  streams  that  surprise  me  in  the  desert, 
by  the  gates  which  open  to  me  in  the  enclosing 
wall.  I  shall  know  it  by  the  proof  of  the  pro- 
mise, '  As  thy  days,  so  shall  thy  strength  be ! ' 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE  PHYSICAL  EFFECT  OF   GETHSEMANE 

The  grief  of  the  Garden  affected  Jesus  both 
in  soul  and  body.  His  soul  was  'exceeding 
sorrowful,'  and  His  bodily  sweat  was  like 
*  great  drops  of  blood  falling  to  the  ground.' 
There  is  indicated  in  the  statement  at  once 
a  mental  and  a  physical  influence.  The  inner 
and  the  outer  life  were  equally  depressed  by 
the  overwhelming  weight  of  His  sufferings. 
Then,  as  we  have  seen,  there  intervened  some- 
thing. A  great  strength  descended  on  His 
spirit.  He  received  a  message  from  His 
Father  which  sent  His  heart  up  like  the 
lark.  From  that  moment  He  was  mentally 
lifted  up  for  ever.  But  His  body  did  not 
rise  simultaneously  with  His  spirit.  When 
the  body  and  the  spirit  are  depressed  to- 
gether   through    the    presence    of  a    grief,   it 


PHYSICAL  EFFECT  OF  GETHSEMANE    281 

does  not  follow  that  the  removal  of  the  grief 
will  raise  them  together.  We  have  experi- 
ence of  the  contrary.  When  we  are  relieved 
from  the  grinding  at  any  mill,  one  part  of 
us  is  taken  and  the  other  left.  The  part 
taken — taken  up  into  joy,  is  the  spirit ;  the 
body  remains  a  while  on  the  ground.  How 
often  our  health  breaks  down  after  the  time 
of  crisis  is  happily  past !  This  could  not  be 
if  the  body  had  shared  simultaneously  in 
the  rise  of  the  spirit.  It  is  a  law  of  human 
nature  that  the  physical  man  shall  continue 
to  bear  the  suffering  of  the  Garden  after 
the  inward  man  has  been  set  free. 

In  the  case  of  Jesus  there  was  an  additional 
reason  why  the  elevation  of  His  spirit  did  not 
at  once  affect  the  outward  frame.  The  joy 
which  came  to  Him  in  the  Garden  was  a 
purely  spiritual  joy.  It  was  not  justified  by 
any  change  in  the  environment.  It  was  a 
peace  that  passed  understanding.  Nothing 
had  happened  to  account  for  it ;  nothing 
followed  to  vindicate  it.  The  Garden  re- 
mained where  it  was;    its  outward  cause   of 


282  THE  PHYSICAL  EFFECT 

grief  remained  where  it  was ;  the  cup  of 
physical  death,  so  far  as  it  could  be  measured 
by  the  eye,  was  as  full  as  ever.  It  was  only 
from  the  soul  that  a  weight  had  really  been 
lifted.  The  joy  of  the  Garden  could  exert 
upon  the  body  only  a  negative  influence.  In 
the  absence  of  a  physical  change  all  that  it 
could  do  was  to  retard  the  advance  of  weak- 
ness, to  delay  somewhat  the  collapse  of  the 
outward  form. 

From  the  moment  of  leaving  the  Garden 
everything  conspired  to  hasten  this  collapse. 
Jesus  was  subjected  to  a  series  of  physical 
strains  involving  successive  marchings,  pro- 
longed wakefulness,  sustained  attention  of 
eye  and  ear.  After  the  cold  night-vigil  of 
Gethsemane  He  is  led  through  the  streets 
at  midnight  to  the  hall  of  judgment.  With 
unseemly,  with  illegal  haste,  the  events  that 
should  have  occupied  days  are  crowded  into 
hours.  With  hardly  an  interval  be,tween  He 
is  brought  before  a  succession  of  tribunals. 
I  omitted  to  detail  these  in  the  previous 
chapter  because  I  wanted  to  direct  attention 


OF  GETHSEMANE  283 

rather  to  the  settled  attitude  of  Christ's  mind 
than  to  the  shifting  nature  of  His  fortunes. 
But  when  we  speak  of  the  physical  in  Jesus 
these  fatiguing  experiences,  coming  as  they 
do  after  the  depression  of  the  Garden,  have  a 
deep  significance  in  explaining  the  collapse 
that  was  to  come.  The  process  must  have 
been  one  of  extreme  outward  exhaustion. 
First  He  is  examined  before  Annas;  then 
He  stands  before  the  bar  of  Caiaphas  ;  then 
He  is  placed  at  the  judgment-seat  of  Pilate; 
then  He  is  sent  to  Herod  ;  lastly,  for  final 
sentence,  He  is  sent  back  to  Pilate  again. 
Then  follows  the  condemnation  to  be  cruci- 
fied. Instantly  He  becomes  the  target  for 
disrespect — legal  and  popular;  for  death  by 
the  cross  was  itself  a  badge  of  disgrace. 
Pilate  scourges  Him ;  the  multitude  insult 
and  mock  and  buffet  Him.  Then  He  is 
brought  forth  to  the  streets  again,  and  the 
procession  begins  to  move  toward  the  final 
scene.  They  ascend  the  Dolorous  Way  lead- 
ing their  august  Captive  to  His  destined  doom  ; 
and  that  Captive  Himself,  in  accordance  with 


284  THE  PHYSICAL  EFFECT 

the  custom  on  such  occasions,  carries  His  own 
cross. 

Suddenly  something  happens — something 
which  we  can  only  see  through  a  veil.  The 
narrative  only  reveals  it  dimly ;  but  it  has 
been  vividly  painted  by  the  pencil  of  Albrecht 
Diirer.  Jesus  faints  under  His  burden.  He 
can  go  no  farther;  His  physical  strength  is 
at  last  exhausted  and  He  sinks  beneath  the 
weight  of  His  cross.  It  is  transferred  from 
Him  to  a  commonplace  man  who  has  come 
out  from  the  country  districts  and  has  joined 
the  procession  through  curiosity.  It  is  to 
my  mind  at  once  the  most  human  and  the 
most  Divinely  helpful  incident  in  the  whole 
life  of  Jesus.  It  constitutes  a  distinct  feature 
in  the  great  gallery,  and  it  bears  to  the  heart 
a  message  which  has  not  been  given  by  any 
other  phase  of  the  Portrait.  Let  us  ponder 
for  a  little  the  depth  of  its  revelation. 

There  is  something  peculiarly  sad  in  a 
physical  collapse.  We  see,  for  example,  a 
medical  student  who  has  brilliantly  passed 
all  his  examinations  but  one — the  concluding 


OF  GETHSEMANE  285 

one  for  which  he  has  not  yet  stood.  He  is 
about  to  enter  upon  this  final  trial.  He  has 
full  confidence  of  success,  and  there  opens 
before  him  the  prospect  of  a  golden  life  in 
the  service  of  man.  Suddenly  his  health 
breaks  down ;  physical  faintness  overtakes 
him ;  he  sinks  by  the  wayside.  At  the  very 
moment  of  planting  his  foot  upon  the 
threshold  his  foot  slips  and  he  is  laid  aside 
from  work.  Just  within  sight  of  the  promised 
land,  he  is  forbidden  to  enter  in,  and  the 
commonplace  Joshua  gets  the  niche  he  was 
designed  to  fill. 

Now,  where  lies  the  pain  of  this  position  ? 
In  this,  that  the  student  continues  to  bear  in 
his  mind  the  burden  he  has  dropped  from  his 
hand.  He  is  still  doing  in  the  spirit  the  work 
he  is  prevented  from  achieving  in  the  flesh. 
Lying  on  his  bed  of  weakness,  he  can  no 
longer  entertain  the  prospect  of  carrying  on 
his  shoulders  the  cross  of  humanity  ;  but  the 
sense  of  this  inability  is  made  more  bitter  by 
the  fact  that  he  has  never  ceased  to  carry  it 
in   his   heart,   and    that,  if  he   only   had   the 


386  THE  PHYSICAL  EFFECT 

physical   power,  the   yoke   to   him  would   be 
easy  and  the  burden  light. 

Now,  excluding  the  bitterness,  this  is  the 
position  of  the  human  soul  of  Jesus  at  the 
stage  where  we  have  arrived.  Do  not  be 
afraid  of  the  earthly  analogy ;  the  doctrine  of 
Incarnation  justifies  all  analogies.  Jesus  has 
been  sweeping  all  difficulties  before  Him.  He 
has  stood  the  ordeal  of  what  I  may  reverently 
call  successive  examinations.  He  has  passed 
the  examination  by  Annas,  by  Caiaphas,  by 
Herod,  by  Pilate.  He  has  but  one  more  to 
undergo — the  examination  by  the  crowd  who 
stand  to  witness  His  progress  up  the  Dolorous 
Way !  As  He  passes  before  them  bearing  His 
physical  burden.  His  outward  strength  suc- 
cumbs. The  cross  drops  from  His  weary 
frame.  He  is  unable  to  complete  the  outward 
task  ;  a  commonplace  man  has  to  finish  it  for 
Him.  And  all  the  rest  of  that  journey  up 
that  Dolorous  Way  Jesus  has  to  bear  His 
burden  only  in  the  spirit.  The  cross  of 
humanity  is  still  carried  in  His  heart;  but  it 
is  there  alone.     He  has  been  constrained  to 


OF  GETHSEMANE  287 

give  up  external  work.  His  labours  for 
humanity  live,  for  the  time,  only  in  His  sym- 
pathy. He  performs  them  merely  in  His 
heart,  in  His  wish,  in  His  will.  The  spirit 
alone  is  ready,  the  flesh  is  weak. 

Have  you  weighed  the  comfort  which  this 
incident  must  bring  to  every  follower  of 
Christ?  Jesus  is  recognised  as  the  typical 
bearer  of  the  cross  of  humanity,  as  having 
never  paused  in  that  work  of  cross-bearing. 
And  yet,  mechanically  speaking,  He  did 
pause ;  He  became  for  a  time  an  invalid  ;  He 
had  to  pass  the  outward  burden  into  the  hands 
of  another.  The  outward  work  was  still  im- 
puted to  Him;  but  why?  Because  He  was 
still  doing  it  in  the  spirit.  Up  that  Dolorous 
Way  He  carried  the  cross  only  in  His  mind ; 
but  that  mental  carrying  was  counted  to  Him 
for  an  outward  deed.  TJiere  is  the  comfort  to 
a  follower  of  Jesus  !  When  a  man  is  laid  aside 
from  the  world,  prostrated  on  a  bed  of  sick- 
ness, disabled  from  doing  any  work  with  the 
hand,  he  can  appeal  to  his  Master's  experience 
in  vindication  of  his  own.     He  can  plead  that 


288  THE  PHYSICAL  EFFECT 

he  is  still  doing  the  work  in  his  heart,  and 
that  every  act  performed  in  his  heart  will  be 
counted  to  him  as  equivalent  to  an  act  done 
outside.  He  may  claim,  in  fellowship  with 
Jesus,  that  even  in  his  hour  of  inaction  he  has 
been  bearing  his  cross  up  the  Dolorous  Way. 

I  have  said  that  without  this  incident  we 
should  not  elsewhere  in  the  Portrait  meet  with 
precisely  the  same  suggestion.  I  read  lately  in 
a  book  written  by  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
of  living  clergymen,  an  extraordinary  statement. 
He  said  that  Christ  was  subject  to  every  form 
of  human  vicissitude  except,  perhaps,  sickness. 
It  was  the  exception  that  startled  me ;  it 
seemed  to  impoverish,  rather  than  enrich,  the 
Portrait.  I  set  myself  to  inquire  in  the  great 
gallery  whether  there  was  not  some  trace  of 
this  unobserved  feature.  And  I  was  truly 
glad  when  I  found  it  here — on  the  road  up  to 
Golgotha.  The  weariness  at  the  well  would 
not  make  a  complete  humanity  if  it  were  not 
supplemented  by  a  weariness  on  the  sick-bed. 
We  cannot  afford  to  part  with  this  incident 
in  the  life  of  Jesus. 


OF  GETHSEMANE  289 

I  have  said  that  when  Jesus  dropped  His 
outward  cross  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  a 
commonplace  man.  He  is  called  Simon  of 
Cyrene.  Cyrene  was  situated  in  North  Africa, 
and  it  contained  a  Jewish  colony.  I  do  not 
think,  however,  that  Simon  was  a  Jewish 
colonist.  I  think  he  must  have  belonged  to 
the  slave  population.  I  cannot  imagine  that 
a  free  man  would  have  been  made  the  victim 
of  such  an  indignity  as  to  be  forced  to  bear 
the  cross  of  one  on  his  way  to  crucifixion. 
The  narrative  distinctly  points  out  that  it  was 
no  voluntary  act  on  his  part:  'him  they  com- 
pelled to  bear  His  cross.'  There  was  not 
present  at  that  moment  a  single  man  who 
would  have  accepted  the  burden  with  his  will 
— probably  not  one  that  would  have  accepted 
it  for  hire.  Jesus  in  His  hour  of  sickness 
could  find  neither  a  hand  to  nurse  for  affection 
nor  a  hand  to  nurse  for  reward  ;  the  care  He 
received  was  all  the  result  of  compulsion. 

We  will  say,  then,  that  Simon  was  an  African 
slave.  If  he  had  the  blood  of  North  Africa 
in  his  veins,  his  person  in  the  eyes  of  the  Jew 

VOL.  II.  T 


290  THE  PHYSICAL  EFFECT 

was  associated  with  slavery.  He  came  from 
a  hated  race — the  race  of  Ham.  He  came 
from  the  race  that,  according  to  Jewish  tradi- 
tion, had  received  the  solemn  curse  of  the 
patriarch  Noah,  that  had  been  doomed  to 
the  place  of  a  servant  of  servants.^  He 
belonged  to  a  fraternal  branch  of  that  people 
which  Israel  had  been  bidden  to  exterminate, 
to  expel,  to  root  out  of  the  land — that  people 
from  whose  captives  taken  in  war  she  had  con- 
stituted her  first  ownership  of  a  community 
of  slaves.  Doubtless  such  a  thought  was  in 
the  mind  of  the  Jew  when  he  compelled  Simon 
of  Cyrene  to  bear  the  cross  of  Jesus. 

What  had  brought  Simon  there?  Curiosity 
— tinged,  no  doubt,  with  a  little  complacency. 
Coming  out  from  the  country  he  had  met  and 
followed  the  procession — that  procession  which 
accompanied  to  the  place  of  death  one  reported 
to  be  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  royal  house 

^  The  condemnation  to  be  *  a  servant  of  servants '  (Genesis 
ix.  25)  is  really  intended  for  all  Ham's  posterity  ;  it  is  specially 
associated  with  the  name  of  Canaan  merely  because  Canaan 
represents  the  Hebrew  branch ;  the  meaning  is  '  keep  Ham's 
posterity  away  from  our  shores  I  * 


OF  GETHSEMANE  29' 

of  David.  I  can  imagine,  I  say,  that  some 
complacency  mingled  with  his  curiosity.  I 
can  conceive  him  thus  communing  with  him- 
self: 'So  this  is  what  it  has  come  to  at  last! 
Pride  has  indeed  got  a  fall !  The  line  ot 
David  crushed  our  line ;  where  is  it  now ! 
Here  is  the  last  of  the  series — a  man  broken, 
shattered,  reviled,  led  to  a  malefactor's  doom  ! 
The  rose  of  Jesse  has  withered  ;  the  glory  of 
Solomon  has  faded ;  the  light  of  the  royal 
line  is  going  out  in  gloom !  Truly  the  wrongs 
of  the  Canaanite  have  been  at  length  avenged!' 
Such,  in  more  direct  language,  must  have 
been  the  sentiment  of  the  African  slave  as  he 
stood,  spectator  of  the  scene.  Suddenly  the 
spectator  is  made  an  actor!  A  ring  gathers 
round  him.  Jesus  has  dropped  His  cross 
through  exhaustion ;  here  is  a  strong,  able- 
bodied  man  who  can  supply  the  vacant  place ! 
Within  a  few  seconds  Simon  finds  himself 
where  Jesus  stood.  Reluctant,  struggling,  pro- 
testing, he  is  dragged  into  the  arena ;  and  the 
burden  which  has  fallen  from  the  Son  of  Man 
is  laid  upon  him ! 


292  THE  PHYSICAL  EFFECT 

What  does  this  mean  ?  I  do  not  ask  what 
does  it  mean  for  Siinoft,  but  what  does  it 
mean  for  the  world}  I  have  said  that  the 
final  scene  in  the  life  of  Jesus  embraces  the 
many  phases  of  His  communion  with  future 
ages.  We  have  seen  in  His  meeting  with 
Caiaphas  and  Pilate  His  communion  with  the 
future  life  of  nations.  What  is  involved  in 
His  meeting  with  Simon  of  Gyrene?  It  is 
the  inauguration  of  something  very  distinct 
and  novel.  Simon  is  ^compelled  to  bear  His 
cross.'  It  is  the  initiation  of  a  great  fact — 
that  henceforth  the  bearing  of  that  cross  will 
be  inevitable  to  all.  The  fate  of  Simon  is  not 
merely  historical ;  it  is  typical.  It  tells  you 
and  me  that  no  man  can  escape  the  cross  of 
Jesus.  We  may  or  may  not  commune  with 
Jesus  Himself,  but  we  have  no  alternative  as 
to  communing  with  His  cross.  The  choice  is 
not  between  taking  the  cross  of  Christ  or 
leaving  it ;  we  must  take  it.  The  choice  is, 
shall  we  be  compelled  to  bear  it  or  mpelled 
to  bear  it ;  shall  it  be  thrust  upon  us  by  law 
or  shall  it  be  appropriated  by  love?     Christ 


OF  GETHSEMANE  293 

has  brought  man  so  near  to  man  that  my 
brother  cannot  suffer  without  his  suffering 
affecting  me.  I  cannot  escape  the  cross  of 
humanity,  for  there  has  been  woven  a  network 
round  all  men  which  makes  it  imperative  they 
should  rejoice  or  suffer  together.  One  question 
alone  awaits  me — shall  I  let  my  brother's  cross 
come  to  me,  or  shall  I  go  to  meet  my  brother's 
cross?  Shall  I  be  r(7;«pelled  or  shall  I  be 
zVwpelled  to  bear  it  ?  Shall  I  take  it  through 
sympathy  or  shall  I  take  it  like  Simon  of 
Cyrene?  That  is  the  choice,  that  is  the 
alternative ;  other  course  lies  before  no  man. 
Communion  with  the  cross  there  must  be,  but 
there  are  two  roads  which  lead  to  it ;  which 
shall  be  mine  ? 


T  HAVE  chosen,  O  Lord  ;  I  shall  take  love's 
-^  way.  I  shall  not  be  like  Simon  of  Cyrene 
—  an  unwilling  burden-bearer ;  my  service 
shall  be  free.  Still  Thou  art  passing  up  the 
Dolorous  Way  carrying  the  burden  of  Thy 
cross !     Still  Thou  comest,  footsore  and  weary, 


5  94    PHYSICAL  EFFECT  OF  GETHSEMANE 

bearing  Thy  great  weight  —  the  weight  of 
humanity !  Thou  hast  borne  it  from  the 
gates  of  the  Garden  all  down  the  stream  of 
Time ;  Thou  hast  carried  it  from  the  first  hour 
of  Calvary  to  the  last  hour  of  to-day !  Shall 
I  let  Thee  bear  it  any  longer  alone !  I  have 
seen  the  multitude  forsake  Thee.  I  have  seen 
Thy  disciples  flee — the  men  of  the  mountain 
and  the  men  of  the  plain  together.  I  have 
seen  Simon  of  Cyrene  compelled  to  do  with 
his  hand  a  service  which  his  heart  revolted 
from.  I  cannot  bear  this  neglect  of  Thee,  O 
Lord !  Give  me  a  fragment  of  Thy  cross ! 
Let  me  help  Thee  with  Thy  burden  up  the 
Dolorous  Way !  Let  me  lend  one  touch  to 
the  lifting  of  the  mighty  load !  Let  me  lessen 
by  one  added  hand  the  weight  of  Thy  labour ! 
Let  me  lighten,  even  by  one  helping  arm,  the 
heaviness  of  the  pressure  on  Thy  heart !  I 
would  never  have  it  said  of  me  that  I  was 
compelled  to  bear  Thy  cross  I 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THE  HOUR  OF   PRIESTHOOD 

We  have  in  the  course  of  these  volumes  seen 
Jesus  in  two  aspects — that  of  the  prophet  and 
that  of  the  king.  Galilee  has  revealed  Him 
as  the  prophet ;  Jerusalem,  spite  of  His  ap- 
proaching death-shadows,  has  revealed  Him 
as  the  king.  We  are  now  to  see  Him  in  His 
third  aspect — that  of  the  priest.  The  dis- 
tinctive hour  of  His  priesthood  has  now  struck. 
I  would  place  its  striking  precisely  at  that 
moment  when  He  dropped  His  outward  cross. 
That  was  the  beginning  of  His  absolute 
passiveness.  Hitherto  His  service  of  man  has 
been  active ;  He  has  been  the  helper  and  the 
healer.  But  now  the  surrender  of  His  life  is 
to  take  a  new  form.  Instead  of  ministering 
with  the  hand,  He  is  to  yield  Himself  into 
the  hands  of  others.     The  last  trace  of  active 

296 


296        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

power  was  the  carrying  of  His  cross  up  the 
steep  of  Golgotha.  But  now  the  cross  has 
fallen  to  the  ground ;  His  strength  is  feeble ; 
His  steps  are  toUerIng ;  there  is  nothing  left 
for  Him  but  to  die.  He  has  been  the  prophet; 
He  has  been  the  king ;  He  is  now  to  be  the 
priest  surrendering  the  passive  victim ;  and 
the  passive  victim  is  to  be  His  own  soul. 

But  let  us  remember  that  when  the  cross 
dropped  from  the  shoulder  it  did  not  drop 
from  the  heart.  We  must  never  forget  that 
the  effect  of  Gethsemane's  message  upon  the 
soul  of  Jesus  was  a  permanent  effect.  It 
never  deserted  Him.  It  struck  a  light  which 
remained  in  His  sky  even  at  His  darkest  hour. 
We  shall  go  wrong,  in  my  opinion,  if  we 
imagine  that  the  Cross  of  Calvary  was  at  any 
time  to  Jesus  a  starless  night.  There  was 
dense  darkness  over  the  earth ;  but  the  vision 
of  Jesus  went  beyond  the  earth.  The  Geth- 
semane  message — the  message  which  told  of 
an  accepted  world,  of  a  pardoned  humanity, 
of  a  fear  dispelled — never  ceased  ringing  in 
His  ear.     It  rose  above  the  taunts,  above  the 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        297 

revilings,  above  the  earthquake,  above  the 
rending  of  rocks.  It  made  His  last  voice  a 
note  of  triumph,  but  it  gave  strength  also  to 
His  previous  voices.  Strength,  did  I  say! 
I  should  have  said,  regalness.  Nowhere  is 
Jesus  more  regal  than  in  His  parting  hour. 
Nowhere,  as  St.  John  says,  does  He  seem 
more  uplifted  than  in  His  passion.  Nowhere 
is  He  more  glorified  than  in  His  cross.  And 
the  reason  is  that  He  has  been  glorified 
previous  to  the  cross — glorified  by  a  message 
from  His  Father  which  has  made  His  heart 
strong  and  given  to  His  inner  eye  a  mountain 
view. 

There  is  a  remarkable  passage  in  a  letter 
written  by  one  of  Christ's  disciples,  nay,  by 
one  who  was  with  Him  in  the  Garden  ;  and  it 
expresses  the  view  at  which  we  have  here 
arrived.  This  disciple  says  that  Jesus  was 
'put  to  death  in  the  flesh  but  quickened  in 
the  spirit.'  I  understand  this  to  mean,  not 
merely  that  the  spirit  of  Jesus  was  quickened 
after  death,  but  that  it  was  exempt  from  the 
weakness  incidental  to  the  outward  frame  in 


298       THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

the  process  of  crucifixion  ;  the  spirit  remained 
wilh'ng  even  while  the  flesh  was  weak.  From 
the  very  outset  of  this  scene  the  attitude  of 
Jesus  is  one  of  mental  strength.  He  refuses 
to  partake  of  a  narcotic  which  is  offered  Him 
to  dull  the  coming  pain.  Why?  Did  He 
deem  that  there  was  any  advantage  in  physical 
pain  ?  No ;  the  whole  aim  of  His  outward 
ministry  had  been  to  relieve  it.  But  He  will 
not  purchase  immunity  from  physical  pain  by 
immunity  from  thought.  The  offered  drink 
would  have  blunted  consciousness.  It  \s  from 
consciousness,  and  not  from  its  absence,  that 
Jesus  expects  a  dulling  of  physical  pain.  Two 
things  may  relieve  outward  suffering — an  anaes- 
thetic, or  a  joy.  Jesus  rejected  the  anaesthetic 
because  He  already  possessed  the  joy.  He 
had  received  in  the  Garden  a  message  from 
His  Father  which  was  to  Him  more  powerful 
than  any  narcotic — which  lifted  the  burden 
of  His  pain,  not  by  a  suspension  of  vital 
energy,  but  by  an  enlargement  of  mental 
comfort. 

Do   you   doubt   that   this    message   of   the 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        299 

Garden  was  the  golden  thread  which  encircled 
His  cross,  in  other  words,  that  before  coming 
to  Calvary  He  had  been  already  'crowned 
with  glory  and  honour  for  the  suffering  of 
death '  ?  Here  is  the  proof :  in  the  very 
moment  when  He  lay  down  upon  that  cross, 
in  the  initial  moment  of  physical  pain  and 
outward  laceration,  Jesus  breathed  a  prayer 
that  the  Father  would  ratify  His  Gethsemane 
message  ;  He  said,  *  Father,  forgive  them  ;  they 
know  not  what  they  do.'  In  that  physically 
dread  moment,  the  first  thing  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  Jesus  was  not  the  impression  of  the 
nails  but  the  impression  of  the  Garden  promise. 
His  prayer  was  virtually  this :  '  Father,  fulfil 
to  me  Thy  promised  joy !  Ratify  to  me  the 
message  of  the  Garden !  Thou  hast  seen  me 
trembling  in  the  Garden  lest  this  culminating 
deed  of  sin  should  chill  Thy  heart  for  ever. 
And  Thou  hast  answered  that  trembling,  O 
my  Father!  Thou  hast  sent  me  a  message 
of  strength  ;  Thou  hast  told  me  that  my 
flower  of  sacrifice  will  outweigh  the  world's 
thorn.     Fulfil  this  joy,  my   Father!      Accept 


300       THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

the  thorn,  yea,  the  crown  of  thorns,  for  the 
sake  of  the  roses  I  bring !  Forgive  those 
who  have  raised  this  cross ! ' 

You  will  observe  here  a  repetition  of  that 
same  regal  bearing  which  we  beheld  in  the 
Garden  agony.  The  bodily  attitude  of  Jesus 
on  the  cross  is  a  prostrate  attitude.  But 
at  this  very  moment  His  soul  is  standing 
upright.  He  is  never  more  majestic  than  in 
His  prayer,  '  Father,  forgive  them  ;  they  know 
not  what  they  do — they  have  not  realised 
that  they  are  attempting  to  destroy  absolute 
purity.'  It  is  the  most  unique  exhibition  of 
conscious  moral  dignity  which  the  world  has 
ever  seen ;  and  it  is  the  more  unique  on  this 
account,  that  it  is  entirely  apart  from  egotism ; 
it  is  used  entirely  in  the  service  of  others. 
The  priesthood  of  Jesus  on  the  cross  never 
for  an  instant  lost  sight  of  His  kinghood  on 
the  throne. 

As  I  stand  in  the  great  gallery  I  am  deeply 
impressed  with  the  artistic  effort  to  portray 
the  crown  of  Jesus  in  the  midst  of  His  cross. 
Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  to  wonder  why 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD       301 

that  sensuous  age  makes  so  little  of  the 
physical  sufferings  of  Jesus?  Modern  preachers 
have  painted  in  ghastly  colours  the  outward 
agonies  of  Calvary.  But  the  first  narrators 
of  the  scene  are  dominated  by  the  determina- 
tion to  tell  only  how  the  kinghood  conquered 
the  pain.  I  shall  illustrate  the  point  presently; 
meantime  I  am  simply  asking  its  artistic  cause. 
And  that  cause  is  not  far  to  seek.  There  can 
be  no  expiation  in  mere  physical  pain.  Legal 
penalty  there  may  be,  but  not  expiation. 
Expiation  demands  an  act  of  will.  However 
complete  be  the  surrender,  it  must  be  a  con- 
scious surrender,  a  voluntary  surrender.  The 
expiating  work  of  Jesus,  whether  in  life  or  in 
death,  is  not  the  fact  that  He  lay  passive  in 
the  hand  of  the  Father;  it  is  His  determination 
to  lie  passive.  In  life  and  in  death  alike  the 
source  of  expiation  is  not  the  impotence,  but 
the  regal  strength,  of  Jesus — the  fact  that  He 
could  say,  '  No  man  taketh  my  life  from  me  ;  I 
lay  it  down  of  myself;  I  have  power  to  lay  it 
down  and  I  have  power  to  take  it  again.' 

That  is  the  reason  why  in  the  great  gallery 


302        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

so  little  prominence  is  given  to  the  physical 
pain  of  Jesus.  It  is  designed  that  even  on  the 
cross  He  should  verify  His  words  to  Pilate,  '  I 
am  a  king.'  Accordingly,  the  attitude  of  Jesus 
on  the  cross  is  not  that  of  an  abject  victim. 
We  listen  in  vain  for  any  expression  of 
physical  suffering.^  No  groan  escapes  Him  ; 
no  cry  of  anguish  reaches  our  ear ;  as  a  sheep 
dumb  before  its  shearers  He  opens  not  His 
mouth.  We  feel  as  if  His  personal  life  were 
already  buried,  as  if  the  wants  of  His  body 
were  forgotten  in  the  wants  of  love.  Where 
His  silence  is  broken  it  is  never  to  utter  a  com- 
plaint; it  is  always  to  express  an  ^personal 
interest.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  print  of  the 
nails  had  impressed  upon  His  human  organism 
not  His  own  pains  but  the  pains  of  others. 
Explain  it  as  you  will,  these  hours  of  Calvary 
are  to  Him  not  a  season  of  individual  weeping 
but  a  season  of  universal  communion.  Solitary 
as  He  personally  was,  His  cross  was  the  focus 
of  humanity.  Round  it  there  gathered  the 
representatives  of  every  class — the  slave,  the 
*  Unless  St.  John  xix.  28  be  counted  as  such. 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        303 

peasant,  the  priest,  the  scribe,  the  soldier,  the 
malefactor,  the  disciple,  the  woman.  And  to 
the  eye  of  the  narrator,  these  are  the  subjects 
of  the  coming  empire — the  future  servants  in 
whose  midst  and  in  whose  interest  the  lonely 
and  prostrate  Sufferer  legislates  as  a  king. 

What  other  thought  than  this  is  in  the  mind 
of  the  evangelist  when  he  records  that  above 
the  cross  of  Jesus  there  was  placarded  an 
inscription  written  in  Greek  and  Latin  and 
Aramaic  :  '  This  is  Jesus  the  King  of  the  Jews ' ! 
I  am  aware  that  Pilate  wrote  it  in  mockery,  or 
at  least,  in  cynicism.  But  what  he  said  in  jest 
the  evangelist  received  in  earnest  and  posterity 
has  realised  as  fact.  Aramaic,  Greek,  Latin — 
the  language  of  the  people,  the  language  of  the 
cultured,  the  language  of  the  military — that 
Passion  Week  Jesus  had  heard  them  all.  He 
had  heard  the  hosannas  of  the  Jewish  rabble ; 
He  had  received  the  mission  of  the  cultured 
Greeks ;  He  had  listened  to  the  voice  of  the 
Roman  soldiers.  And  the  evangelist  felt,  nay, 
Jesus  felt,  that  these  three  representative  voices 
would  be  raised  for  the  Christ  of  the  future. 


304        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

In  the  coming  age  His  gospel  would  influence 
all  the  three — the  men  who  toil,  the  men  who 
study,  the  men  who  fight ;  it  would  support  the 
first,  it  would  illuminate  the  second,  it  would 
soften  the  third.  This  has  been  the  actual 
course  of  Christianity.  It  has  secured  the 
rights  of  the  masses  ;  it  has  trimmed  the  lamp 
of  the  student ;  it  has  mitigated  the  horrors  of 
war.  Is  there  in  the  mind  of  the  narrator 
some  prophetic  foresight  of  this  last  point 
when  he  tells  us  that  Christ's  garment  was 
parted  among  the  soldiers  ?  It  was  the  custom 
at  such  times ;  but  to  the  eye  of  His  followers 
Christ's  contact  invested  every  old  custom  with 
a  new  significance.  Did  not  the  new  signi- 
ficance of  this  distribution  lie  in  the  belief  that 
the  Roman  soldier  was  unconsciously  being 
clothed  upon  by  a  new  spirit,  and  being  in- 
vested with  a  garment  whose  power  of  creating 
inward  warmth  would  be  learned  by  him  in 
after  years  ? 

Presently  there  occurred  an  incident  which 
establishes  beyond  all  controversy  the  regal 
character  of  the  scene  depicted  in  the  gallery. 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        305 

In  the  very  act  of  crucifixion,  in  the  very 
moment  of  physical  prostration,  Jesus  received 
a  tribute  of  homage  equal  to  anything  which 
had  marked  the  days  of  His  power.  It  came 
from  the  lips  of  a  malefactor  who  was  being 
crucified  along  with  Him.  In  the  last  hour  of 
a  bad  life  this  dying  criminal  raised  his  eyes  in 
prayer  to  his  Fellow-Sufferer  and  cried,  *  Lord, 
remember  me  when  Thou  comest  in  Thy  king- 
dom ! '  He  received  more  than  he  asked.  He 
asked  to  obtain  salvation  in  the  far  future ; 
Jesus  offered  it  then  and  there,  'Verily  I  say 
unto  thee,  "to-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in 
Paradise"'! 

The  incident  is  commonly  used  by  preachers 
to  exemplify  the  possibility  of  an  extraordinary 
exercise  of  Divine  mercy.  That  this  man 
should  gain  in  a  moment  what  a  Peter  secured 
only  after  long  and  violent  struggle  seems  a 
thing  that  can  be  accounted  for  by  nothing 
else  than  a  miraculous  stretch  of  pardon.  And 
yet,  to  think  so  is  a  great  mistake.  The 
miraculous  thing  is  not  the  pardon,  but  the 
ripeness,  of  the  malefactor.     There  are  flowers 

VOL.  II.  U 


3o6        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

in  the  American  prairies  that  spring  up  in  a 
single  night.  When  they  do  spring  up,  they 
are  entitled  to  all  the  benefits  of  a  flower  ;  it  is 
no  miracle  that  they  drink  the  sunshine.  The 
whole  wonder  lies  in  their  quick  springing,  in 
the  acceleration  of  their  development.  So  is  it 
with  this  malefactor.  The  marvel  is  the  ripe- 
ness of  his  faith.  You  say  he  received  a 
quicker  reward  than  Peter.  He  deserved  it. 
He  displayed  exactly  that  kind  of  faith  which 
Peter  in  the  Garden  had  failed  to  reach — faith 
in  Christ's  power  on  the  cross.  His  spiritual 
life  was  born  on  Calvary ;  he  was  the  first  leaf 
of  that  winter  tree.  He  came  to  Jesus  in  His 
human  poverty.  He  came  to  Him  when,  to 
the  eye  of  sense,  He  was  a  dying  man.  He 
came  to  Him  when  He  had  been  divested  of 
every  robe  which  meant  royalty,  denuded  of 
every  badge  which  declared  Him  to  be  a 
king.  And  yet,  in  that  hour  he  perceived  His 
royalty.  He  detected  the  gold  beneath  the 
dust ;  he  recognised  the  kingdom  through  the 
cloud.  In  the  absence  of  all  visible  glory,  in 
the  presence  of  all  that  suggested  humiliation, 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        307 

this  man  discerned  a  regal  majesty,  a  power 
to  which  in  death  a  human  soul  might  pray. 
And  Jesus  discerned  in  him  the  presage  of 
His  coming  kingdom — the  first-fruits  of  a 
great  communion  in  which  the  voices  of  a 
responsive  multitude  should  break  the  solitude 
of  the  Son  of  Man, 

I  have  always  felt  that  this  malefactor  on 
the  cross  is  the  extreme  antithesis  to  the 
portrait  of  Judas.  They  both  teach  the  same 
moral — that  a  man  can  only  be  converted  from 
within  ;  but  Judas  teaches  it  by  his  failure,  the 
malefactor  by  his  success.  Judas  had  from 
the  beginning  every  outward  advantage.  He 
saw  the  Master  in  His  physical  glory ;  he 
lived  in  a  sanctified  environment.  But  there 
was  no  response  from  the  inner  man,  and 
therefore  all  the  environment  went  for  nothing. 
The  malefactor,  on  the  other  hand,  had  no 
outward  advantages.  His  had  been  an  en- 
vironment of  evil.  He  had  lived  in  a  debased 
atmosphere ;  he  had  only  seen  Jesus  at  the 
last  hour.  Yet  there  was  in  him  something 
which  was   independent   of  environment  and 


3o8        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

which  bad  surroundings  could  not  kill.  There 
was  an  inner  life  which  unconsciously  waited 
and  thirsted ;  and,  when  the  well  of  water 
appeared,  the  thirsting  soul  recognised  its 
need  and  ran  forth  spontaneously  to  meet  the 
coming  joy. 


T  THANK  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  it  was  in 
^  Thine  hour  of  sacrifice  the  world  received 
Thy  garment.  I  thank  Thee  that  it  was  at 
Thy  cross  Thy  robes  were  parted  among  men. 
It  is  Thy  moment  of  humiliation  that  has 
reclothed  humanity.  There  was  a  garment  of 
Thine  on  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration  ;  but 
that  has  not  been  parted  among  us.  I  am 
glad  that  was  not  the  garment  chosen.  It 
suited  Thee,  but  it  would  not  suit  us.  It 
was  too  white,  too  glistening,  for  our  toilsome 
day.  We  want  something  that  will  stand  the 
tear  and  wear  of  life,  something  fitted  for 
work  that  soils  the  outer  hand.  And  we  have 
found  it  in  this  second  garment  of  Thine — the 
garment  given    at   Thy   cross.     Ever   let   me 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        309 

touch  the  hem  of  that  garment,  O  Lord ! 
With  that  robe  upon  me  I  can  do  all  work 
and  receive  no  stain.  With  that  robe  upon 
me  I  can  touch  impurity  and  still  be  pure. 
With  that  robe  upon  me  I  can  touch  things 
soiled  with  moth  and  rust ;  and  the  moth  will 
not  corrupt  and  the  rust  will  not  corrode. 
The  saints  in  heaven  may  walk  in  white  before 
Thee ;  but  the  garment  for  me  is  the  garment 
of  Thy  cross ! 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD — Continued 

The  point  I  am  considering  is  one  of  artistic 
contrast.  In  the  delineation  of  the  great 
gallery  the  last  hours  of  the  Son  of  Man  are 
described  in  a  twofold  aspect ;  the  flesh  is 
weak,  but  the  spirit  is  willing.  I  am  trying  to 
illustrate  this  twofold  attitude,  am  seeking  to 
show  how  the  persistent  aim  of  those  who 
depict  Christ's  death  is  to  poise  His  mental 
strength  over  against  His  physical  weakness. 
At  the  very  moment  when  the  body  is  pro- 
strated, racked  with  pain  and  exhausted  by 
fatigue,  the  soul  of  Jesus  is  represented  in  an 
upright  posture,  manifesting  an  active  interest 
in  things  around,  and  exercising  a  regal  and 
legislative  influence  in  the  midst  of  the  closing 
scene.  We  have  been  considering  one  of  these 
legislative    acts — the   admission  of  the  male- 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD       311 

factor  into  the  kingdom  of  God.  We  are  now 
to  witness  another  of  a  different  kind.  The  case 
of  the  malefactor  was  an  act  of  jurisdiction 
in  the  sphere  of  the  criminal ;  we  are  now  to 
see  an  exercise  of  authority  in  the  sphere  of  the 
household.  The  altar  and  the  hearth  are  once 
more  to  be  united,  and  this  time  they  are  to  be 
joined  by  a  reunion  with  His  own  domestic 
circle — the  circle  of  His  Nazareth  home. 

It  is  strange  and  beautiful  to  see  the  two 
extreme  points  of  life  thus  joined.  Calvary 
and  Nazareth  were  very  far  apart,  and  much 
had  intervened  to  separate  the  aspirations  of 
the  one  from  the  hopes  of  the  other.  Yet 
here  they  met  side  by  side.  Shortly  after 
the  malefactor's  prayer  there  stood  before  the 
cross  a  group  of  five.  Four  of  them  were 
women,  and  two  of  these  women  belonged  to 
the  family  of  Jesus — His  mother  and  her  sister. 
The  fifth  of  the  group  was  a  man,  but  a  man 
who  was  yet  to  develop  a  truly  feminine  soul ; 
it  was  the  disciple  whom  Jesus  specially  loved 
— John,  son  of  Zebedee.  As  they  stood  below 
the  cross,  the  eye  of  Jesus  rested  successively 


312        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

on  two  of  them — the  mother  and  the  beloved 
disciple ;  and  He  committed  to  that  disciple 
the  greatest  trust  that  has  ever  been  reposed 
in  any  human  being — the  charge  of  His  earthly 
parent,  *  Woman,  behold  thy  son ;  son,  behold 
thy  mother ! ' 

There  is  something  grand  in  this  home 
touch  amid  the  storm.  There  are  mountains 
whose  summits  are  white  with  the  snows  of 
winter  and  yet  at  whose  base  there  reposes  a 
wealth  of  summer  flowers.  Some  such  picture 
is  here.  The  head  of  Jesus  is  crowned  with 
thorns  ;  but  His  heart  reposes  in  the  memories 
of  home.  The  songs  of  Galilee  ring  in  His 
ear  above  the  tumult  of  Jerusalem  ;  and  He 
turns  aside  from  His  pain  to  bless  the  old 
cottage  of  Nazareth.  The  physical  suffer- 
ing is  superseded  by  an  act  of  impersonal 
communion.  Jesus  on  the  cross  communes 
with  the  home  life  of  coming  ages.  He 
sanctifies  for  all  time  to  come  the  ties  of  the 
family,  and  puts  an  eternal  imprimatur  upon 
the  affections  of  the  heart. 

It  is  curious  that  in  the  closing  of  St.  John's 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        313 

Gospel  there  should  thus  ring  out  the  refrain 
of  its  opening  pages.  It  begins  with  a 
domestic  scene — the  marriage  feast  of  Cana, 
where  the  mother  is  seen  standing  beside  her 
son.  It  closes  with  a  scene  in  which  the 
mother  and  son  again  stand  side  by  side,  and 
in  a  different  shape  the  miracle  is  again  per- 
formed of  glorifying  the  commonplace — of 
turning  the  water  into  wine. 

I  am  inclined  to  recognise  another  refrain 
of  this  Gospel's  opening  in  the  words  which 
Jesus  next  breathes  on  the  cross,  '  I  thirst ! ' 
They  express  the  only  personal  want  to  which 
He  there  gives  utterance.  I  have  no  doubt 
they  express  a  real  personal  want.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  here,  as  at  the  well  of  Samaria, 
He  asked  water  because  He  wanted  it.  But 
I  think  that  here  He  had  the  well  of  Samaria 
behind  Him  as  a  background  of  memory. 
There,  in  His  hour  of  need,  man  had  ministered 
to  Him ;  and  the  ministration  had  been  sweet. 
Now  there  had  come  to  Him  an  hour  of  need 
deeper  still ;  would  He  not  give  man  again  a 
chance  to  minister !     Real  as  the  craving  was, 


314        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

I  think  this  was  the  motive  for  expressing 
it.  I  beh'eve  that  but  for  this  motive  He 
would  never  have  told  His  want.  He  could 
have  kept  it  within  His  heart ;  He  had  deeper 
wants  than  this  within  His  heart,  unseen, 
unheard,  hid  from  the  common  gaze.  If  this 
is  spoken  out,  it  is  not  for  His  own  sake 
but  for  the  sake  of  Man.  He  wants  His 
brother  to  offer  Him  the  cup  of  cold  water. 
He  wants  to  receive  in  that  cup  a  counter- 
part of  the  communion  in  the  wilderness  of 
Bethsaida.  That  was  a  gift  from  the  hand 
of  Jesus  to  the  multitude  ;  was  there  to  be 
no  gift  from  the  hand  of  the  multitude  to 
Jesus !  Was  not  the  time  come  when  the 
Son  of  Man  should  be,  not  the  giver,  but 
the  receiver !  I  believe  it  was  this  thought 
which  dictated  to  Jesus  the  one  expression 
of  physical  want  on  the  cross.  The  outward 
thirst  was  real ;  but  He  had  an  inner  thirst 
which  was  deeper  —  the  desire  for  human 
sympathy.  The  satisfaction  of  the  outer  thirst 
by  the  hand  of  Man  would  allay  the  inner 
craving.      It    would    prove    the    existence    of 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        315 

compassion  —  a  word  which  literally  means 
participation  in  the  suffering  of  another. 
Therefore  it  was  that  Jesus  asked  the  out- 
ward draught. 

And  when  He  received  it  from  a  purely 
secular  hand,  I  doubt  not  He  received  it  as 
an  act  of  communion.  The  man  who  gave 
it  was  to  Him  a  representative  man.  He 
stood  for  the  secular  ages  to  come.  He  stood 
for  those  whose  charity  would  be  better  than 
their  creed,  whose  pity  would  be  larger  than 
their  faith.  He  represented  those  who  in 
future  ages  would  help  humanity  without 
knowing  that  they  were  helping  Him.  That 
is  why  Jesus  did  not  refuse  the  draught.  It 
meant  to  Him  more  than  it  said.  It  implied, 
not  a  cup,  but  an  ocean — not  the  outpouring 
of  a  little  wine,  but  the  pouring  forth  of  a 
world's  heart ! 

There  is  only  one  incident  of  these  hours  on 
the  cross  which  might  be  thought  to  militate 
against  my  view  that  the  soul  of  Jesus  re- 
mained erect  amid  the  stooping  of  the  body. 
I    allude  to  the  words   which   He   uttered  in 


3i6        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

soliloquy,  '  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  Thou 
forsaken  me  ! '  They  have  been  thought  to 
indicate  that,  for  an  instant  at  least,  the  spirit 
of  Jesus  was  overclouded  by  His  sufferings, 
and  that  the  waves  of  a  momentary  despair 
swept  across  His  soul.  From  my  point  of 
view  such  a  conclusion  is,  of  course,  impossible. 
I  regard  Christ's  mental  anguish  as  having 
been  conquered  in  Gethsemane.  Even  in  Geth- 
semane  He  did  not  fear  that  the  Father  would 
forsake  Him,  but  that  the  Father  would  for- 
sake the  world.  Waiving,  however,  any  opinion 
of  mine  in  this  matter,  look  at  the  record 
itself!  Do  you  think  it  likely  that,  almost 
immediately  after  an  expression  of  the  most 
cloudless  confidence,  almost  immediately  after 
the  triumphant  declaration  to  the  malefactor, 
'  To-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  Paradise,' 
Jesus  should  have  been  overmastered  by  despair, 
should  have  sunk  into  the  deepest  despond- 
ency, should  have  felt  Himself  abandoned  by 
that  Father  in  whose  service  He  had  lived 
and  for  whose  glory  alone  He  had  laboured? 
Paradise  was  open  to  His  eyes  a  little  while 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        317 

before.  Could  Jesus  doubt  His  own  vision  ? 
Could  He  feel  uncertain  about  that  of  which 
a  few  moments  ago  He  was  sure?  The  very 
statement  refutes  itself,  nullifies  itself!  We 
must  look  elsewhere  for  an  explanation  of  the 
words,  *  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  Thou 
forsaken  me ! ' 

Nor,  do  I  think,  need  we  look  far  for  a  very 
different  explanation  of  them.  We  have  to 
bear  in  mind  first  of  all  that  the  words  are 
not  an  original  utterance  of  Jesus ;  they  are 
a  quotation  from  the  opening  of  the  twenty- 
second  Psalm.  The  question  therefore  narrows 
itself  to  this,  Why  did  Jesus  on  this  occasion 
quote  this  Psalm  ?  Now  observe,  He  was  not 
the  only  one  who  was  quoting  it.  It  was 
being  referred  to  all  round  either  by  word  or 
deed.  The  soldiers  were  dividing  His  raiment 
amongst  them  ;  what  Jew  could  fail  to  read 
in  that  action  those  words  of  that  twenty- 
second  Psalm,  'They  parted  my  garment 
amongst  them,  and  on  my  vesture  they  cast 
lots ' !  The  priests  were  mocking  Him  as 
they  passed  by ;   and   their  mockery  was  all 


3i8        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

expressed  in  the  words  of  that  twenty-second 
Psalm,  '  He  trusted  in  God  that  He  would 
deliver  him ;  let  Him  deliver  him  if  He 
delighted  in  him ! '  In  other  words,  they 
said  :  *  Here  is  a  man  evidently  forsaken  by 
God !  If  he  were  not  forsaken  by  God,  would 
he  have  this  cross}  If  God  were  on  his  side, 
would  He  allow  him  to  be  buffeted,  scourged, 
crucified  ?  No  ;  he  would  be  clothed  in  purple 
and  fine  linen,  and  would  fare  sumptuously 
every  day.  He  would  be  rich ;  he  would  be 
strong ;  he  would  be  joyful ;  he  would  be 
crowned  with  laurels.  Let  this  man  come 
down  from  the  cross,  and  we  shall  believe  in 
him !  Let  him  show  us  his  prosperity,  and 
we  shall  confess  that  God  is  with  him !  Mean- 
time, we  know  by  his  fallen  fortunes  that  he 
is  forsaken  of  heaven,' 

Now,  when  everybody  was  quoting  the 
Psalm,  Jesus  quoted  it  too.  It  was  no  mere 
imitation  that  made  Him  follow  the  stream. 
He  remembered  in  this  Psalm  something  which 
those  others  repeating  it  had  forgotten.  They 
were  quoting  it  as    His  cry  of  despair.     He 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        319 

remembered  that  it  was  really  a  psalm  of 
hope.  He  uttered  the  first  line  aloud,  but  He 
said  the  rest  in  His  heart.  To  my  mind,  it 
was  the  concluding  part  of  the  Psalm  that 
dominated  the  soul  of  Jesus.  Read  that  con- 
cluding part.  Read  the  portion  extending 
from  the  twenty-second  verse  to  the  end.  Is 
that  the  utterance  of  a  man  who  thinks  him- 
self forsaken  ?  On  the  contrary,  it  is  the 
greatest  blast  of  triumph  ever  blown !  The 
message  of  these  verses  is  an  assertion  that 
the  appearance  of  forsakenness  was  a  delusion. 
It  reversed  the  notes  with  which  the  song 
had  opened ;  it  turned  the  funeral  march  into 
a  bridal  strain.  And  it  was  this  closing  strain 
of  which  Jesus  was  thinking  when  He  uttered 
the  opening  words.  He  heard  the  end  from 
the  beginning.  The  final  pa^an  of  glory  rang 
in  His  ear  though  He  began  with  the  minor 
and  mournful  prelude ;  and  while  His  lips 
were  saying,  '  Why  hast  Thou  forsaken  me !  * 
His  heart  was  anticipating  the  words,  '  In 
the  midst  of  the  congregation  will  I  praise 
Thee!' 


320       THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

The  truth  is,  Christ's  expiation  was  His 
acquiescence  —  His  power  to  see  something 
beyond  the  pain.  Why  do  we  not  take  the 
dying  malefactor  as  an  expiation  for  the  sins 
of  the  world?  His  physical  sufferings  were 
of  the  same  kind  as  those  of  Jesus.  His  cross 
was  side  by  side — erected  on  the  same  spot, 
raised  at  the  same  moment ;  why  do  we 
magnify  the  crucified  Jesus  and  merely  pity 
the  crucified  penitent?  You  say,  'Jesus  was 
Divine.'  Yes  ;  but  that  is  a  magnifying  of  His 
crown — not  of  His  cross.  The  cross  belongs 
to  the  human  side.  We  want  to  know  what 
makes  the  cross  of  the  Man  Christ  Jesus  what 
the  cross  of  the  penitent  is  not — an  expiation 
for  the  sins  of  the  world.  *  It  was  because 
Jesus  had  more  pain,'  you  say.  Strange  as 
it  may  seem,  I  think  the  reason  is  exactly 
the  reverse.  If  I  should  not  be  misunder- 
stood, I  would  say  that  Jesus  had  less  physical 
pain,  and  that  in  this  lies  His  power  of  ex- 
piation. The  gift  He  renders  to  the  Father 
is  sweet  in  proportion  as  it  is  voluntary;  it 
is  not  the  agony,  but  the  acquiescence,  that 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        321 

expiates  the  sin  of  the  world.  Even  the 
Jewish  prophet  had  predicted  this  of  the  Holy 
Child  of  God,  whoever  he  might  be,  and  when- 
ever he  might  come,  *  When  Thou  shalt  make 
His  soul  an  offering  for  sin,  the  pleasure  of 
the  Lord  shall  prosper  in  His  hands.'  If  'it 
pleased  the  Lord  to  bruise  Him,'  what  pleased 
Him  was  not  the  bruises  but  the  unconquer- 
able joy.  It  was  the  persistence  of  love  through 
loss,  of  peace  through  pain,  of  trust  through 
trial,  of  courage  through  contumely,  of  devotion 
through  death.  The  tribute  dearest  to  the 
Father  from  the  Cross  of  Calvary  was  not  the 
prostration  of  a  body  but  the  surrender  of  a 
will. 

And  this  helps  us  to  understand  why  the 
last  scene  of  all  is  a  blaze  of  mental  triumph. 
It  is  a  blaze  made  all  the  more  remarkable 
by  the  fact  that  the  physical  surroundings 
are  depicted  at  the  lowest.  The  great  gallery 
is  all  in  gloom.  Dense  darkness  has  come 
on  ;  the  frame  of  the  Portrait  is  utterly  hid. 
Even  artificial  lights  cannot  be  procured,  for 
there  is  a  trembling  of  the  earth  before  which 

VOL.  II.  X 


322       THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

they  could  not  stand.  Yet  it  is  at  this  moment, 
of  all  moments,  that  the  eye  of  Jesus  gleams 
out  with  resplendent  brightness.  It  is  from 
the  dark  room,  from  the  rayless  environment, 
that  the  Face  of  Jesus  shines.  It  shines  with 
an  unborrowed  glory,  a  glory  all  its  own. 
Nothing  assists  it ;  everything  resists  it ;  but 
it  shines,  and  we  see  it  and  are  glad. 

There  was  an  old  belief  that  in  its  hour  of 
death  the  swan  sang.  In  His  moment  of 
death  Jesus  uttered  a  strain  of  triumph.  When 
the  great  darkness  had  lasted  three  hours, 
the  radiance  in  the  soul  of  Jesus  found  ex- 
pression, and  He  cried  with  a  loud  voice : 
'  It  is  finished ;  Father,  into  Thy  hands  I 
commend  my  spirit ! '  With  that  song  on 
His  lips,  He  died.  It  was  not  the  moment 
when  men  expected  Him  to  die.  They  were 
surprised.  The  mere  physical  cross  did  not 
account  for  it.  It  can  only  be  accounted  for 
by  the  supposition  that  some  great  emotion 
had  ruptured  His  heart.  But  what  was  that 
emotion?  It  was  not  despair.  It  was  not 
the  sense  of  being  forsaken  by   His   Father. 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        323 

It  was  not  the  rupture  which  we  popularly 
call  a  broken  heart.  When  we  speak  of  a 
broken  heart  we  mean  a  heart  broken  by 
grief.  But,  if  it  were  good  English,  it  would 
be  perfectly  good  physiology  to  speak  of  a 
heart  broken  by  joy.  No  doubt  the  physical 
heart  of  Jesus  had  been  weakened  by  a  long 
train  of  burdens,  and  there  was  wanted  only 
one  final  strain  to  snap  its  cords  asunder.  But 
that  final  strain  was  to  come  not  from  the  flesh 
but  from  the  spirit — not  from  a  burden  of  care 
but  from  a  weight  of  glory.  The  last  chord  of 
the  harp  was  snapped  by  a  stroke  of  ecstasy ; 
it  was  a  rupture  through  rapture! 

And  what  was  the  cause  of  that  gleam  which 
shot  across  the  dying  hour  of  Jesus  ?  It  was 
the  sense  of  a  completed  development,  '  It  is 
finished ! '  Remember,  no  claimant  for  the 
office  of  Messiah  could  prove  his  claim  till  he 
had  reached  the  setting  sun  ;  it  was  only  at 
evening  time  there  could  be  perfect  light.  The 
required  surrender  to  the  Father  must  be  from 
dawn  to  dark.  It  was  not  enough  that  the 
claimant  should  go  up  to  Mount  Moriah  '  early 


324        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

in  the  morning ' ;  the  morning  sacrifice  must 
be  endorsed  by  the  noon,  the  midday,  and 
the  twilight ;  only  in  the  last  rays  of  twilight 
could  the  aspirant  say,  '  It  is  finished  ! '  None 
had  ever  reached  that  terminus  before.  They 
had  all  fainted  ;  they  had  all  grown  weary. 
Many  had  made  high  resolves  in  the  dawn ; 
none  had  sustained  them  through  the  day. 
Some  had  sunk  at  morning;  some  had 
withered  at  midday ;  some  had  fainted  in 
the  afternoon.  But  now,  at  last,  there  befell 
a  wonder.  One  human  soul  arrived  at  the 
evening  of  the  sacrificial  day!  He  arrived 
alone ;  He  was  the  first  to  discover  the  new 
country — the  reconciled  heart  of  the  Father. 
Yet,  solitary  as  He  was.  He  knew  that  He  was 
the  pioneer  of  millions.  He  was  footsore,  but 
His  foot  was  on  the  land.  There  was  no 
possibility  of  any  more  sea.  He  had  reached 
the  furthest  limit  of  the  path  of  sacrifice.  He 
had  realised  the  dream  of  the  temple  ;  He  had 
realised  the  dream  on  the  banks  of  Jordan. 
He  had  kept  till  evening  the  promise  He  had 
made  to  the  blood-red  morning  sun.     He  had 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD        325 

finished  that  work  of  love  which  in  the  days  of 
childhood  He  had  projected  for  His  Father, 


T  ET  me  bring  Thee  a  wreath,  O  Jesus! 
■* — '  Let  me  bring  it  now  and  here — to  the 
spot  which  the  world  calls  Thy  grave  !  There 
are  many  wreaths  of  pity  on  that  spot ;  but  it 
is  not  a  wreath  of  pity  that  /  would  like  to 
bring.  Not  a  cypress,  but  a  laurel,  would  I 
lay  on  the  steps  of  Calvary.  Often  have  I 
looked  at  my  brother's  grave  and  said,  *  How 
unfinished  is  the  work  of  life ! '  But  when  I 
gaze  on  T/ty  tomb  I  have  the  opposite  feeling  ; 
I  say,  '  Tkz's  Life  was  rounded,  perfected  ! ' 
They  tell  me  that  the  path  of  glory  leads  but 
to  the  grave ;  but  77y  path  to  the  grave  led 
to  glory.  There  is  a  garden  in  the  place 
where  they  laid  Thee  ;  it  will  always  be  there. 
When  I  see  Thy  dying,  the  beauty  will  ever 
predominate  over  the  gloom.  Therefore  I 
will  bring  no  cypress  to  Thy  cross.  Tears 
are  out  of  place  there ;  pity  is  unseemly  there ; 
worship  alone  can  reign   there.      Thy  crown 


326        THE  HOUR  OF  PRIESTHOOD 

glitters  in  the  dust;  Thy  Face  shines  in  the 
gloom ;  Thy  kingdom  comes  in  the  cloud ; 
Thy  sceptre  waves  in  the  pierced  hand.  Thou 
art  powerful  in  Thy  prostration ;  Thou  hast 
dominion  in  Thy  dying ;  Thou  art  conqueror 
in  Thy  final  cry.  The  wreath  I  bring  to 
Calvary  shall  be  a  wreath  of  glory  I 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE   MEANING  OF  EASTER  MORNING 

I  HAVE  now  completed  the  attempt  which  was 
the  purpose  of  these  volumes.  I  have  tried  to 
trace  the  process  as  delineated  by  the  Gospel 
narrative,  whereby  Incarnate  Love  sought  by  a 
lifelong  surrender  to  compensate  the  Father  for 
a  world's  lovelessness.  The  last  hour  of  that 
lifelong  surrender  opened  and  closed  in  Calvary. 
The  words  '  It  is  finished  ! '  mark  in  the  soul  of 
Jesus  the  sense  of  a  completed  process.  He 
has  yielded  up  His  will  to  the  Father  from 
dawn  to  dark.  That  expiatory  offering  of  His 
soul  which  was  begun  in  the  morning  has  been 
continued  without  intermission,  and  perfected 
at  eventide. 

I  have  no  right  to  prolong  this  book  beyond 
what  the  Gospel  narrative  declares  to  be  the 
last  note  of  biographical  development.     I  know 

327 


328  THE  MEANING  OF 

there  are  many  scenes  of  the  Life  which  still 
remain ;  but  they  are  not  scenes  of  develop- 
ment. I  do  not  say  that  some  day  I  may  not 
write  a  book  on  the  Portrait  of  the  Resurrection 
Christ ;  it  is  a  subject  of  great  interest  and  of 
profound  importance.  But  should  I  do  so,  it 
will  not  be  a  third  volume  of  the  present  work, 
but  a  new  work.  The  expiatory  sacrifice  of 
Jesus  was  finished  on  Calvary.  Easter  Morning 
added  nothing  to  its  completeness.  So  far  as 
the  surrender  of  Jesus  is  concerned,  Calvary  is 
a  climax  ;  greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this ! 
The  surrender  of  will,  conceived  in  the  aspira- 
tions of  childhood,  begun  in  the  temptations 
of  the  wilderness,  deepened  in  the  sympathy 
with  man,  tested  by  the  threatened  failure  of 
His  fondest  dreams,  is  crowned  and  culminated 
by  His  words  on  the  cross,  '  Father,  into  Thy 
hands  I  commend  my  spirit ! ' 

Here,  then,  is  the  fitting  place  to  pause. 
There  can  be  no  grander  spot  in  which  to  drop 
the  curtain.  It  is  a  spot  not  of  defeat  but  of 
glory.  The  Form  on  which  our  eye  gazes  is  a 
conqueror's  form.     It  is  the  figure  of  One  who 


EASTER  MORNING  329 

has  seen  the  travail  of  his  own  soul,  and  is 
satisfied  with  the  retrospect,  who  has  van- 
quished His  last  peril,  and  need  fear  no  more. 
The  development  of  the  work  of  Jesus  is 
complete  on  Calvary.  But  it  remains  for  us  to 
ask  two  questions  bearing  on  the  relation  of 
the  Old  Picture  to  the  New.  We  will  take  the 
one  in  the  present,  and  the  other  in  the  follow- 
ing chapter. 

And  first.  Why  do  the  scenes  in  the  great 
gallery  not  pause  at  Calvary  ?  If  the  develop- 
ment of  Jesus  is  complete,  why  extend  the 
picture  ?  Why  is  it  that  when  next  we  stand 
as  artistic  spectators  we  stand  before  a  new 
scene?  Why  is  it  that,  two  days  after  that 
preternatural  darkness,  the  Portrait  of  Jesus 
glitters  in  the  sun  ?  Surely  in  the  mind  of  the 
artist  there  must  have  lurked  a  sense  that  the 
original  Picture  was,  after  all,  incomplete — 
after  all,  unfinished ! 

And  the  mind  of  the  artist  judged  rightly. 
I,  too,  hold  that  the  Cross  of  Calvary  leaves 
a  want  unsupplied  ;  all  I  say  is  that  the  want 
did  not  lie  in   the  development  of  Jesus.     On 


330  THE  MEANING  OF 

Calvary  the  work  of  Jesus  is  complete,  finished, 
perfect  in  all  its  parts ;  but  there  is  still  some- 
thing wanting  to  the  Picture.  What  is  that 
desideratum  ?  What  is  that  missing  link  which 
the  narrative  of  the  Resurrection  supplies? 
That  is  the  question  which  now  presses  upon 
us,  and  it  is  a  question  of  deep  interest.  '  The 
power  of  Christ's  Resurrection,'  has  become 
a  proverbial  phrase.  The  man  who  first 
uttered  it  stood  very  near  the  Portrait ;  he 
occupied  the  front  seat  in  the  gallery ;  he  had 
a  perfect  view.  I  should  like  to  know  what  to 
this  man,  Paul,  was  the  secret  of  the  power  he 
speaks  of.  I  think  I  should  be  disposed  to  take 
his  word  for  it,  since  he  gazed  from  a  distance 
so  near.  I  am  not  speaking  of  him  as  a  witness 
to  the  fact ;  that  is  a  question  for  the  apolo- 
gists. But  I  should  like  to  know  wherein 
to  Paul  lay  the  power  of  Christ's  resurrection. 
And  this  I  can  know,  for  he  has  told  me. 
Let  us  consider  his  testimony. 

Now,  in  looking  into  the  mind  of  Paul,  we 
find  something  which  at  first  sight  surprises  us. 
We  should  have  expected  that  the  value  to  him 


EASTER  MORNING  331 

of  the  Resurrection  Portrait  would  have  been 
its  revelation  of  Christ's  greatness.  Strange  to 
say,  that  is  not  his  view.  The  revelation  of 
Christ's  greatness  is  to  him  a  thing  already 
accomplished  and  needing  no  proof  from 
Easter  Morning.  Nay,  Paul  is  not  afraid  to 
invert  the  order.  So  far  from  regarding 
Christ's  resurrection  as  a  proof  of  His  great- 
ness, he  regards  our  sense  of  His  greatness 
as  a  proof  of  His  resurrection.  In  that  re- 
markable passage  of  i  Cor.  xv.,  in  which  he 
defends  the  gospel  of  Easter  Day,  he  says 
that  if  the  immortality  of  man  be  untrue,  there 
would  follow  five  impossible  consequences. 
The  first  and  foremost  of  these  is  the  striking 
statement,  '  If  there  be  no  resurrection  of  the 
dead,  then  is  Christ  not  risen.'  In  other 
words,  what  he  says  is  this :  '  If  the  soul  be 
not  immortal,  there  will  follow  the  impossible 
consequence  that  Christ  is  dead — that  the  life 
in  whom  our  aspiration  reposes  has  become  a 
thing,  a  clod  of  the  valley.  Deny  immortality, 
and  you  commit  the  mental  contradiction  of 
denying  the  eternity  of  Jesus.     Are  you  able 


33*  THE  MEANING  OF 

to  associate  Jesus  with  death  !  Is  it  not  to 
you  a  contradiction  in  terms !  Is  not  the 
very  statement  "  Christ  is  dead "  the  putting 
together  of  two  incongruous  things — the  union 
of  perfect  life  and  blank  nothingness !  When 
one  says  "Christ  is  dead,"  you  instinctively 
cry,  "  Impossible !  if  He  be  dead,  then  death 
cannot  mean  what  /  call  dying." ' 

Paul,  then,  does  not  regard  the  resurrection 
of  Jesus  in  the  light  of  a  personal  reward 
miraculously  enhancing  His  glory.  He  looks 
upon  it  as  the  inevitable  result  of  a  glory 
already  existing.  It  was  not  an  immortality 
conferred  \  it  was  an  immortality  emerging. 
He  says  elsewhere  in  so  many  words  that  the 
immortal  life  of  Jesus  was  the  life  He  bore 
about  in  His  dying  body.  He  was  not  im- 
mortal because  He  rose ;  He  rose  because  He 
was  immortal.  The  Resurrection  was  not  a 
root  but  a  flower.  The  root  lay  in  the  Christ 
of  Calvary — the  Christ  who  could  suffer  and 
still  be  strong.  The  secret  of  His  immortality 
was  not  the  rolling  away  of  the  sepulchral 
stone ;  it  was  the  holiness  that  sustained  the 


EASTER  MORNING  333 

wilderness  and  the  cross.  Easter  was  not  a 
miraculous  intervention  on  behalf  of  Jesus ; 
the  miracle  would  have  been  His  continuing 
under  the  power  of  death.  Had  there  been  no 
resurrection,  Christ  would  have  been  dead — 
there  would  have  been  a  violation  of  spiritual 
law.  The  rolling  away  of  the  stone  prevented 
a  miracle ;  it  restored  the  order  of  nature ;  it 
re-established  the  harmony  between  life  and 
its  environment. 

One  of  the  dearest  disciples  and  closest 
companions  of  Paul  has  given  direct  expres- 
sion to  the  idea  that  the  Resurrection  was  no 
miracle.  I  allude  to  the  earliest  of  ecclesiastical 
historians — the  writer  of  the  Acts.  Speaking 
of  the  rising  of  Jesus,  he  uses  the  remarkable 
words :  *  Having  loosed  the  pains  of  death, 
because  it  was  not  possible  that  He  should  be 
holden  of  it'  What  he  really  means  to  say  is 
that  to  accomplish  the  rising  of  the  Son  of 
Man  no  new  force  had  to  be  added  to  those 
already  existing.  It  was  not  required  that 
Jesus  should  be  made  immortal.  Jesus  was 
already  immortal.     Even  at  His  hour  of  death 


334  THE  MEANING  OF 

there  was  an  incongruity  between  Him  and 
death.  His  death  was  a  miracle ;  it  was  quite 
impossible  that  it  should  be  a  perpetuated 
miracle.  Something  must  Intervene  to  restore 
the  broken  balance  of  nature.  Jesus  had  in 
Him  the  root  of  immortality — something  which 
made  it  inconceivable  that  His  flesh  should 
see  corruption.  That  thing  was  holiness.  His 
purity  of  heart  demanded  that  He  should  see 
God^  and  not  corruption.  The  secret  of  His  im- 
mortality was  in  Himself,  not  in  His  resurrec- 
tion. He  loosed  the  pains  of  death  because 
He  was  Himself  stronger  than  death.  That 
strength  is  our  hope  of  glory.  Easter  is  merely 
a  manifestation  of  that  strength — an  effect  of 
it,  a  result  of  it.  Christ  is,  in  the  deepest  sense, 
the  cause  of  His  own  rising ;  in  Christ,  and  not 
in  His  rising,  lies  our  vision  of  immortality. 

According,  then,  to  the  earliest  view  of  the 
subject,  the  value  of  Easter  Morning  does  not 
lie  in  wreathing  Jesus  with  the  crown  of  im- 
mortality. It  does  not  so  wreath  Him  ;  He 
was  wreathed  with  that  crown  long  before. 
I  may  remark  in  passing  that  my  individual 


EASTER  MORNING  335 

impression  has  always  coincided  with  this  early 
view.  Believing,  as  I  do,  in  the  manifestation 
of  Jesus  after  death,  I  believe  it  on  other 
grounds  than  the  revealing  of  His  immortality. 
To  me  His  immortality  needs  no  such  revela- 
tion. As  I  stand  in  the  great  gallery  and  read 
the  Face  of  Jesus,  as  I  mark  the  expressions 
of  that  Face  through  all  the  scenes  from 
Galilee  to  Calvary,  I  feel  that  He  is  already 
immortal.  I  feel,  so  far  as  my  sense  of  His 
immortality  is  concerned,  that  I  need  no  testi- 
mony from  the  open  grave.  It  would  not 
disconcert  me,  on  this  point,  if  a  new  and 
earlier  Bible  were  found  which  closed  its  record 
at  the  Cross  of  Calvary.  I  should  still  feel 
that  in  this  Portrait  of  the  Son  of  Man  I  had 
the  highest  possible  evidence  of  the  existence 
of  a  soul  invulnerable  by  death.  I  am  im- 
pressed that  here  is  a  Life  which  is  going  to 
His  Father,  which  is  bound  for  heaven,  which 
has  already  obtained  a  key  to  open  the  golden 
gate.  I  feel  that  this  soul,  at  least,  is  the 
accepted  of  the  Lord — that,  whatever  be  the 
state  of  others,  this   Man,  at  all  events,  has 


336  THE  MEANING  OF 

passed  the  flaming  sword  of  the  Cherubim  and 
planted  His  feet  in  the  Paradise  of  God. 

I  agree,  then,  with  Paul  and  with  the  early 
Church  generally,  that  the  opening  of  the  grave 
was  no  addition  to  the  majesty  of  Jesus.  The 
value  of  the  open  sepulchre  to  Jesus  does  not 
lie  in  any  increase  of  His  personal  glory. 
Where,  then,  does  it  lie ;  what  is  the  meaning 
of  Easter  Morning?  Let  us  stand  again  in 
the  gallery  beside  the  man  in  front  of  the 
Picture ;  let  us  once  more  ask  Paul.  He  has 
had  his  eye  on  both  the  night  and  the  morning 
aspect  of  the  Portrait.  He  has  studied  it  amid 
the  shadows ;  he  has  studied  it  in  the  roseate 
hours.  He  has  brought  to  the  study  a  com- 
bination of  faculties  unequalled  among  his 
contemporaries.  He  has  been  on  both  sides 
of  the  Christian  controversy ;  he  has  been  on 
many  sides  of  Christian  experience.  He  has 
been  a  man  of  large  nature.  He  has  been  a 
Roman  to  the  Romans,  a  Greek  to  the 
Corinthians,  a  Celt  to  the  Galatians.  His 
opinion  will  be  worth  having,  and  it  will  be 
an  impartial  opinion ;  let  us  ask  Paul. 


EASTER  MORNING  337 

And,  indeed,  when  we  get  the  answer  we  are 
struck  with  its  impartiality.  Paul  had  never 
seen  the  earthly  Jesus ;  he  had  been  disparaged 
because  he  had  never  seen  Him.  He  had  every 
temptation  to  undervalue  the  expiating  work 
of  Galilee  and  Jerusalem,  every  temptation  to 
exalt  a  new  and  mystical  Christ  on  the  Resur- 
rection Heights  of  Olivet.  Does  he  yield  to 
that  temptation  ?  On  the  contrary,  he  says 
that  the  glory  of  Easter  Morning  is  simply 
that  it  endorsed  that  expiating  work  which 
with  his  outward  eyes  he  had  never  seen.  He 
describes  the  value  of  Christ's  resurrection  in 
the  memorable  words,  '  He  was  raised  for  our 
justification. 

What  does  he  mean  by  that  ?  What  do  you 
mean  by  using  a  similar  expression  in  common 
life  ?  When  do  you  say,  '  You  see  I  have  been 
justified  in  what  I  did '  ?  It  is  when  something 
has  happened  which  proves  you  to  have  been 
right.  Now,  that  is  precisely  what  Paul  means. 
He  says :  '  You  have  taken  this  man  for  your 
Messiah — your  sin-bearer.  You  have  accepted 
him  as  the  Mediator  between  you  and  your 

VOL.  II.  Y 


338  THE  MEANING  OF 

Father.  There  were  many  things  that  seemed 
to  mock  your  choice.  He  was  despised  and 
rejected  of  men,  a  man  of  sorrows  and  ac- 
quainted with  grief.  He  seemed  to  tread  a 
path  of  silence,  a  path  of  obscurity,  a  path  the 
reverse  of  that  prescribed  for  your  national 
Messiah.  But  here  at  last  there  has  come  the 
Father's  audible  "  Amen  " !  Here  at  last  you 
are  proved  to  have  been  right!  Your  choice 
has  been  justified.  There  has  come  a  flash 
from  the  sky,  a  voice  from  the  silence.  The 
curtain  of  death  has  been  rent  into  fragments, 
and  you  have  been  allowed  to  see  what  is 
already  known  in  heaven  —  that  this  finished 
Life  is  accepted  as  the  Expiation  for  human 
sin.' 

With  Paul,  then,  I  regard  Easter  Morning 
as  the  Father's  audible  '  Amen  '  to  the  work  of 
Jesus.  It  was  the  only  audible  '  Amen  '  which 
had  yet  been  uttered.  Amid  all  the  wonders 
of  the  Galilean  and  Jerusalem  ministries  there 
had  been  one  desideratum  ;  there  had  been  no 
voice  from  the  Father  to  the  world.  There 
had  been  voices  to  Jesus — intimations  that  with 


EASTER  MORNING  339 

His  personal  life  the  Father  was  well  pleased  ; 
but  there  had  been  no  voice  addressed  to  the 
ear  of  the  world.  Gethsemane's  message  had, 
indeed,  been  one  of  good  tidings  for  man  ;  but 
it  had  been  spoken  in  the  ear  of  Jesus  alone, 
and  life  had  been  too  short  to  enable  Him  to 
reveal  it.  What  more  fitting  than  that  it 
should  be  revealed  after  life  had  closed  !  Easter 
Morning  sent  a  sunbeam  of  heaven  over  every 
inch  of  that  gallery  which  held  the  Portrait  of 
Jesus.  To  all  the  admirers  of  that  Portrait  it 
breathed  a  voice  of  welcome,  admitting  them 
as  students  of  the  Great  Academy.  That  is 
the  meaning,  that  is  the  glory,  of  Easter 
Morning.  It  is  the  one  voice  that  says  to  the 
world, '  Through  this  Beloved  Son  the  Father 
is  pleased  with  you.'  Why  is  it  that  we  centre 
in  the  resurrection  of  Christ  rather  than  in 
the  resurrection  of  Lazarus}  The  latter  was 
equally  an  exhibition  of  power,  and  it  could 
have  been  corroborated  by  a  larger  multitude ; 
why  does  Chris fs  rising  bear  the  glory  ?  It  is 
because  the  resurrection  of  Christ  is  what  the 
resurrection  of  Lazarus   does   not   profess   to 


340  THE  MEANING  OF 

be — a  message  of  reconciliation.  It  is  because 
what  we  seek  from  any  Easter  Morning  is  not 
a  mere  declaration  that  we  are  immortal,  but 
a  declaration  that  we  are  immortal  children 
of  God.  We  want  to  know,  not  merely  that 
we  are  freed  from  death,  but  that  we  are 
accepted  '  in  the  Beloved.'  Lazarus  per- 
petuated in  his  grave-clothes  would,  after  all, 
be  a  sorry  gain.  The  bells  of  Bethany  may 
ring  the  message,  '  Live  for  ever ! '  but  the 
bells  of  Easter  Morning  ring  a  message  nobler 
still, '  All  hail ! ' 


T)EHOLD  us  in  Christ,  O  Father;  accept 
^^  us  in  Thy  Beloved  I  See  in  Him  the 
finished  picture  of  ourselves !  Thou  hast  been 
working  as  the  artist  works — striving  to  per- 
fect each  portrait  of  each  human  soul.  In 
all  the  gallery  there  is  only  one  that  has 
responded  to  Thy  touch  —  only  one  that  is 
altogether  lovely.  But  that  One  has  shown 
the  possibility  for  all.  Behold  us  in  Him ! 
See  in  Him  what  we  might  be!      When  our 


EASTER  MORNING  341 

humanity  reveals  its  blemishes,  when  Thou 
art  tempted  to  turn  Thine  eyes  from  us  in 
artistic  despair,  let  this  one  Face  shine  before 
Thee !  Let  His  beauty  be  Thy  hope  for  me ! 
Let  His  purity  be  Thy  dream  of  me  1  Let 
His  sacrifice  be  Thy  prophecy  of  me !  Behold 
in  Him  the  possibilities  of  Thy  Spirit  in  Man ! 
He  is  the  first  rose  of  our  summer,  and  as  yet 
He  is  all  alone.  But  when  Thou  gazest  on 
Him  Thou  seest  in  Thy  heart  the  roses  which 
are  not  yet  in  Thy  garden.  Keep  my  roses 
in  Thy  heart,  O  Lord  ;  let  them  bloom  already 
there !  Ere  ever  they  are  rooted  and  grounded 
in  the  soil,  ere  ever  they  have  opened  their 
petals  to  the  day,  ere  ever  they  are  warmed 
by  the  sunshine  or  watered  by  the  rain,  look 
upon  my  roses  as  risen  with  Jesus !  Create 
within  Thy  thought  each  plant  before  it 
grows ;  and  let  the  light  which  nourishes 
Thine  ideal  garden  be  the  beauty  of  the  Son 
of  Man! 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

HAS   THE   CROWN    SUPERSEDED   THE   CROSS? 

The  question  I  have  made  the  title  of  this 
chapter  is  the  second  of  those  which  I  pro- 
posed to  ask.  Put  in  other  words,  it  amounts 
to  this :  *  Is  the  Face  of  Jesus  which  appeared 
after  death  the  same  Face  which  through  these 
pages  we  have  studied  in  the  great  gallery  ? ' 
If  it  is  not,  we  should  experience  a  thrill  of 
regret.  We  should  do  so  even  if  it  were 
proved  that  the  Resurrection  Face  of  Jesus 
was  less  marred  than  the  Original  Counte- 
nance. Probably,  in  all  circumstances,  love 
would  feel  this.  If  the  offer  were  made  to  you 
to  have  the  face  of  some  dear  friend  trans- 
formed into  the  more  glorious  countenance  of 
an  angel,  you  would  certainly  cry,  '  No ;  I 
would  rather  have  it  as  it  is — blemishes  and 
all ! '     But  the  feeling  would  be  much  stronger 

M2 


IS  THE  CROSS  SUPERSEDED?       343 

in  the  case  of  the  marred  Visage  of  Jesus,  for 
the  marredness  of  that  Visage  is  to  the 
Christian  a  part  of  its  beauty.  To  take  away 
that  from  the  gallery  would  be  to  paint  Christ 
with  Calvary  left  out ;  and  the  omission  would 
be  resented  in  the  interest  both  of  art  and 
religion.  We  hear  a  great  deal  about  the 
exaltation  of  Jesus — about  the  crown  of  thorns 
being  exchanged  for  a  crown  of  glory.  I 
greatly  prefer  the  paradox  of  the  Fourth 
Gospel :  '  Your  sorrow  shall  be  turned  into 
joy.'  What  we  want  to  see  in  Jesus  is  not 
an  exchange  but  an  efflorescence.  We  want 
to  see  Him  glorified,  not  by  His  exaltation 
above  the  cross,  but  by  His  exaltation  on  the 
cross.  We  want  to  see,  in  short,  the  glorifying 
of  Christ's  sorrow ;  and  we  shall  not  be  satis- 
fied with  any  sequel  which  simply  lifts  the 
Son  of  Man  out  of  His  troubles. 

Accordingly,  we  shall  look  with  some  interest 
for  the  answer  to  the  question, '  What  does  the 
Resurrection  narrative  propose  to  do  with  that 
Portrait  of  Jesus  with  which  we  have  become 
familiar  and  which  we  have  learned  to  love?' 


344  HAS  THE  CROWN 

Now,  there  is  a  point  to  which  I  wish  to  direct 
attention  because  it  seems  to  me  of  great  im- 
portance in  determining  this  question.  Has  it 
ever  struck  you  that  the  Resurrection  narrative 
is,  in  the  scenes  through  which  it  passes,  essen- 
tially retrospective?  If  you  will  only  grant 
— what  a  large  number  of  critics  believe — that 
the  fishing  expedition  of  John  xxi.  has  been 
recorded  in  the  wrong  place,  you  will  be  able 
to  come  to  a  remarkable  conclusion.  You 
will  find  that  the  Resurrection  Life  of  Jesus 
is  a  repetition,  on  the  upper  road  and  with 
panoramic  swiftness,  of  the  nature  and  order 
of  those  scenes  which  constitute  the  features 
of  His  earlier  ministries. 

Let  us  recall  the  order  of  these  earlier 
ministries.  Jesus  begins  in  simple  Galilee. 
His  first  experience  is  an  experience  not  of 
communities  but  of  individuals.  He  meets 
men  as  they  are — goes  to  their  marriage  feasts, 
joins  in  their  daily  avocations.  But  when 
He  has  attracted  them  He  begins  to  combine 
them.  He  passes  from  the  position  of  an 
individual   teacher  to   the  position  of  a  cor- 


SUPERSEDED  THE  CROSS?  345 

porate  head.  He  forms  a  league  of  pity.  It 
has  but  twelve  men ;  but  it  is  the  nucleus  of 
a  coming  kingdom.  By  and  by  the  nucleus 
expands  ;  the  twelve  become  the  five  thousand; 
the  cup  passes  from  the  hand  of  the  disciples 
to  the  hand  of  the  multitude.  As  His  circle 
widens,  His  message  enlarges.  He  speaks  at 
first  on  the  lines  of  the  past — expanding  what 
the  prophets  had  taught,  deepening  what  had 
been  said  by  *  the  men  of  old  time.'  But  by 
and  by  He  takes  a  higher  flight.  He  ceases 
to  be  merely  an  interpreter  of  the  past.  He 
claims  to  have  a  new  commandment,  to  breathe 
a  fresh  spirit  into  humanity,  to  impart  to  the 
world  an  additional  stream  of  life. 

Now,  look  at  the  comparison  between  this 
order  of  events  and  the  order  of  events  de- 
scribed in  the  combined  accounts  of  Christ's 
Resurrection  ministry ;  I  have  been  greatly 
struck  with  its  similarity — I  had  nearly  said, 
its  identity — of  sequence.  Here  too  we  have  a 
Christ  who  begins  in  Galilee.  Here  too  His 
first  manifestations  are  to  private  individuals — 
are  dictated  by  the  personal  leanings  of  His 


346  HAS  THE  CROWN 

heart.  He  appears  to  Mary  Magdalene ;  He 
appears  to  the  other  Mary;  He  appears  to 
Peter.  He  meets  His  fishermen  disciples,  as 
He  had  done  of  yore,  in  the  midst  of  their 
daily  toil ;  He  stands  by  the  lake  of  Tiberias 
and  bids  them  cast  their  nets  once  more. 
Then  comes  a  transition  like  that  we  meet 
in  the  early  Gospel  story.  Jesus  appears  to 
the  Twelve  collectively.  Hitherto  He  has  met 
only  individuals  in  His  Resurrection  form  ; 
He  now  manifests  Himself  to  the  united 
league  of  pity.  And  for  the  second  time  we 
have  an  ordination  sermon  on  a  mountain  of 
Galilee — a  sermon  which  ordains  these  primi- 
tive missionaries  to  teach  throughout  all 
nations  those  practical  precepts  which  in  the 
days  of  His  first  ministry  had  been  uttered, 
perhaps,  on  that  very  hill. 

By  and  by  we  have  another  stage  in  the 
Resurrection  Life  of  Jesus ;  and  again  it 
repeats  the  sequence  of  the  primitive  ministry. 
In  that  ministry  we  saw  the  twelve  widen  into 
the  five  thousand ;  the  cup  of  communion 
was  committed  to  the  hands  of  the  multitude. 


SUPERSEDED  THE  CROSS?  347 

And  the  enlargement  of  the  league  is  repeated 
here.  '  Afterward,'  cries  Paul,  speaking  of  the 
Resurrection  Christ,  '  He  was  seen  of  above 
five  hundred  brethren  at  once.'  After  the 
twelve  came  the  five  hundred  ;  after  the  dis- 
ciples came  the  multitude.  The  rhythm  of  the 
Resurrection  has  followed  the  rhythm  of  the 
Incarnation.  In  both  there  has  been  a  progress 
from  the  inner  to  the  outer  circle.  In  both 
there  has  been  an  advance  from  the  individual 
to  the  masses.  In  both  there  has  been  an 
expansion  from  the  sphere  of  domestic  interest 
into  the  sphere  of  public  interest.  In  both 
there  has  been  an  extension  of  the  field  of 
missionary  labour  from  the  limits  of  a  native 
locality  to  the  needs  of  man  as  man. 

There  is  even  a  strong  similarity  between 
the  geographical  transitions  of  these  ministries. 
Both  began  with  Galilee ;  both  ended  by  shift- 
ing their  final  scene  from  Galilee  to  Jerusalem. 
And  in  both  the  change  of  scene  is  accom- 
panied by  a  change  of  teaching.  The  Resur- 
rection Christ  who  stands  among  the  hills  of 
Galilee     teaches    the     same    homely    lessons 


348  HAS  THE  CROWN 

which  in  Galilee  He  taught  before.  And  when 
the  Resurrection  Christ  comes  to  Jerusalem, 
He  adopts  those  other  lessons  which  in  Jeru- 
salem He  taught  before.  He  no  longer  gives 
utterance  to  the  aphorisms  of  the  daily  life. 
He  lifts  men  beyond  the  day,  beyond  the  world 
— into  a  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in 
the  heavens.  He  breathes  upon  them  a  higher 
air.  He  points  them  to  a  life  not  seen  by  earthly 
eye,  not  heard  by  earthly  ear,  not  cognis- 
able by  earthly  sense.  He  repeats  the  offer 
of  that  mysterious  peace  which  comes  through 
shut  doors  —  which  manifests  itself  where 
nothing  can  account  for  it.  Above  all,  He 
repeats  the  scene  in  the  upper  room ;  He  is 
known  to  His  disciples  in  the  breaking  of 
bread.  It  is  a  fuller  communion  than  that 
before  His  death.  In  the  communion  before 
Calvary  death  was  only  a  prospect  to  Him ; 
in  the  communion  after  Resurrection  death 
was  a  retrospect;  He  could  give  the  experi- 
ence of  a  completed  life. 

Such  is  the  parallel    which   has   suggested 
itself  to    me    between    the    ministry   of  the 


SUPERSEDED  THE  CROSS?  349 

Resurrection  Christ  and  the  ministry  of  that 
Christ  whose  Portrait  we  have  been  consider- 
ing. I  have  dwelt  upon  it,  not  to  emphasise 
a  curious  speculation,  but  to  support  a  very 
sober  view.  If  this  parallel  be  well  founded, 
it  will  follow  that  the  Crown  is  not  meant  to 
supersede  the  Cross — that  the  glory  of  the 
Resurrection  is  its  removal  of  obstacles  in  the 
path  of  the  Cross.  But,  waiving  this  parallel 
between  the  manifestations  of  the  Risen  Christ 
and  the  events  of  the  antecedent  ministry,  let 
us  look  at  the  former  by  themselves  and  on 
their  own  account.  When  I  survey  these 
manifestations  of  the  Risen  Christ  there  is  one 
thing  which  impresses  me  beyond  all  others, 
and  that  is  the  sacrificial  character  of  the 
narratives.  I  think  they  are  more  sacrificial 
than  those  of  the  previous  ministries.  In 
the  previous  ministries  nearly  all  the  acts  of 
sacrifice  are  done  by  Jesus.  But  in  this  Resur- 
rection ministry  the  sacrifice  is  shared  by  the 
disciple;  the  servant  has  taken  up  the  cross 
of  his  Lord.  I  am  deeply  struck  with  this. 
It  is  not  a  peculiarity  of  any  one  incident ;  it 


350  HAS  THE  CROWN 

runs  like  a  thread  of  gold  through  all  the 
series.  A  moment's  gaze  at  the  Resurrection 
Portrait  of  Jesus  will  make  this  clear. 

The  very  opening  incident  suggests  sacrifice. 
Magdalene  has  found  her  Lord,  alive.  She  is 
in  rapturous  joy.  She  assumes  He  is  come  to 
remain.  She  clings  to  Him  with  a  wild  tenacity 
— a  tenacity  which  says  in  effect,  '  I  will  never 
again  let  you  go ! '  He  answers  :  '  Ah,  but 
you  must !  It  is  vain  for  you  thus  to  hold  me. 
Cling  to  me  not,  for  I  am  not  yet  ascended  to 
my  Father — not  yet  in  the  possession  of  my 
perfect  joy.  Let  it  be  a  comfort  to  you  to 
know  that  your  bereavement  is  the  worlds s  gain ; 
I  can  do  greater  things  for  men  when  I  am  in 
the  presence  of  my  Father.  Meantime,  it  may 
help  you  to  bear  this  bereavement  if  you  re- 
member that  your  brethren  also  are  bereaved. 
Go  and  tell  those  who  have  not  seen  me  that 
for  a  moment  you  have  seen  me.  There  are 
some  who  may  never  get  even  the  temporary 
glimpse  you  have  had.  Tell  these  that  I  am 
not  dead,  that  you  have  seen  me  alive,  that  I 
have  ascended  to  my  Father.'    And  Magdalene 


SUPERSEDED  THE  CROSS?  351 

departs  to  obey  the  command  ;  she  carries  the 
burden  of  humanity  in  the  Easter  Dawn. 

Again,  Three  forms  are  seen  treading  the 
road  to  Emmaus.  Two  of  them  are  those  of 
Christian  disciples ;  the  third  is  the  figure  of 
the  Risen  Jesus.  The  disciples  do  not  know 
Jesus ;  but,  without  knowing  Him,  they  are 
thrilled  by  His  utterance.  They  complain 
of  the  failure  of  the  hopes  they  had  formed 
of  Him.  Jesus  still  keeps  His  incognito. 
Instead  of  dispelling  their  fears  by  a  direct 
revelation  of  Himself,  He  appeals  to  their 
reason  and  their  heart.  He  strives  to  make 
them  see  His  beauty,  not  as  the  result  of 
resurrection,  but  as  the  result  of  sacrifice. 
Speaking  under  the  disguise  of  a  stranger, 
He  says,  *  Ought  not  Christ  to  have  suffered 
these  things  in  order  to  enter  into  His  glory  ? ' 

And  the  words  seem  to  have  had  a  good 
effect.  There  follows  a  fine  act  of  unselfish- 
ness on  the  part  of  these  disciples.  When 
they  reach  the  door  of  their  own  house  they 
say  to  the  stranger,  'Abide  with  us,  for  it  is 
toward    evening,   and   the   day   is   far   spent' 


352  HAS  THE  CROWN 

Sermon-writers  and  hymn-writers  have  lost  the 
point  of  this  narrative.  They  persist  in  regard- 
ing the  request  as  the  cry  of  helpless  souls 
beseeching  Jesus  to  be  near  them.  They 
forget  that  these  men  did  not  know  to  whom 
they  were  speaking,  that  they  took  Jesus  for 
a  stranger.  When  they  said,  '  It  is  toward 
evening,  and  the  day  is  far  spent,'  they  did  not 
mean,  '  We  shall  find  it  very  dark,'  but,  '  You 
will  find  it  very  dark.'  It  was  an  act  of  pure 
humanitarianism — done  actually  for  Christ, 
but  believed  to  be  done  for  another.  It  was 
a  cup  of  cold  water  given  to  Jesus  '  only  in 
the  name  of  a  disciple.'  The  whole  scene  was 
an  unconscious  yet  visible  representation 
of  the  words,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto 
one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have 
done  it  unto  me.* 

They  enter  the  house ;  they  sit  down  to 
partake  of  the  nightly  meal.  But  the  presence 
of  Jesus  makes  the  ordinary  meal  what  He 
wished  it  to  be — a  sacrament — that  one  Sacra- 
ment which  commemorates  His  Sacrifice.  And 
here,  strange  to  say,  the  incognito  is  lifted  ; 


SUPERSEDED  THE  CROSS?  353 

He  is  recognised  'in  the  breaking  of  bread'. 
There  are  those  who  after  long  years  have 
been  identified  by  an  attitude.  But  it  is 
strange,  from  an  artistic  point  of  view,  that  the 
Christ  of  Easter  Day  should  have  been  identi- 
fied by  an  attitude  bearing  the  reminiscence 
of  Calvary,  One  would  have  thought  that  the 
recognition  would  have  fastened  on  some- 
thing more  majestic — that  the  Resurrection 
Form  would  have  reminded  these  disciples  of 
the  afterglow  of  that  glory  which  had  illumined 
Him  on  the  Transfiguration  Mount.  But  no  ; 
it  is  not  the  Mount  but  the  upper  room  that  is 
the  medium  of  recognition.  It  comes  from  an 
attitude  reminding,  not  of  His  glory,  but  of 
His  humiliation.  What  they  recognise  is  the 
Broken  Body — the  Body  broken  for  them.  The 
recognition  of  the  Christ  who  had  passed  into 
a  life  beyond  the  grave  is  effected  mainly  by 
the  memory  of  sacrificial  love. 

With  striking  consistency  is  the  idea  main- 
tained in  the  episode  of  Thomas.  Thomas 
recognises  his  Lord  by  the  print  of  the  nails. 
The  presence  of  such  a  feature  in  the  Resur- 

VOL.  II.  Z 


354  HAS  THE  CROWN 

rection  Body  of  Jesus  is  artistically  startling. 
To  admit  a  memorial  of  pain  into  a  picture  of 
the  heavenly  state  was  a  bold  thing.  It  would 
have  been  bold  in  any  age ;  it  was  specially 
bold  in  that  age.  It  was  an  age  that  rever- 
enced the  strong,  that  reverenced  the  beautiful. 
It  was  a  period  when  a  physical  blemish  was 
deemed  a  disgrace,  when  Divine  power  meant 
bodily  power.  To  such  a  world  the  spectacle 
presented  by  the  gallery  on  Easter  Morning 
must  have  been  as  new  as  it  was  appalling 
— a  Form  that  has  risen  to  the  sphere  of  the 
immortals  is  seen  bearing  the  mark  of  its 
earthly  wounds !  It  is  the  inauguration  of 
a  new  ideal  of  heaven,  nay,  of  a  new  ideal 
of  God — an  ideal  in  which  power  will  be  pro- 
portionate to  suffering,  in  which  the  ability 
to  succour  pain  will  be  commensurate  with 
the  capacity  to  feel  it. 

And  what  else  than  this  is  the  meaning 
of  these  words  of  Jesus  on  the  mountain  of 
Galilee,  '  All  power  is  given  unto  me  in 
heaven  and  on  earth ;  go  ye,  therefore,  and 
teach    all    nations '  ?      The    power    of    which 


SUPERSEDED  THE  CROSS?  355 

Jesus  speaks  is  sympathetic  power ;  otherwise 
there  would  be  no  meaning  in  the  word 
'therefore.'  He  says,  'I  have  received  the 
power  of  universal  sympathy ;  go,  therefore, 
and  help  universal  Man  ! '  And  where  has  He 
received  it?  On  the  heavenly  side  of  death? 
No,  on  the  earthly  side.  He  has  received 
His  culminating  power,  not  from  resurrection, 
but  from  death  itself  His  last  stage  of 
development  was  in  the  depths  of  the  valley ; 
there  He  met  man  as  man.  The  flower 
which  Jesus  wears  on  Easter  Morning  is  not 
the  flower  of  Eden  but  the  flower  of  Gethse- 
mane.  Eden  could  never  unite  '  all  nations ' ; 
but  Gethsemane  can ;  there  is  not  a  common 
joy,  but  there  is  a  common  sorrow.  Therefore 
it  is  His  death  that  makes  Him  our  King !  It  is 
His  cross  that  we  lift !  It  is  His  sorrow  that 
we  elevate !  It  is  His  pain  that  we  glorify ! 
It  is  His  sacrifice  that  we  perpetuate !  Paul 
speaks  of  men  being  caught  up  to  meet  the 
Risen  Christ — the  Christ  '  in  the  air.'  But  it  is 
not  the  elevation  that  attracts  them  ;  it  is  the 
object  elevated.    They  are  drawn  to  the  height 


356  HAS  THE  CROWN 

because  the  valley  is  mirrored  there ;  they  are 
tempted  to  the  sunbeam  because  it  holds  the 
shadow  in  its  bosom.  The  glory  of  Easter 
Morning  is  the  sacrificial  red  upon  its  sky. 


T  THANK  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  this  new  ideal 
-^  of  heaven  !  The  veil  of  the  temple  has 
indeed  been  rent  in  twain !  I  had  altogether 
different  ideas  of  the  life  beyond  death — the 
Resurrection  Life.  I  thought  heaven  was  a 
place  where  there  was  no  trace  of  the  nail- 
prints,  no  room  for  sacrificial  love.  I  thank 
Thee  that  Thou  hast  rent  the  veil  and  hast  let 
me  see  through !  I  praise  Thee,  O  Lord,  for 
that  vision !  I  was  afraid  my  love  would  die 
from  disuse,  die  from  having  nothing  to  do. 
I  bless  Thee  that  Thy  Risen  Form  has  gone 
down  into  Galilee — down  to  those  who  sit  in  the 
valley  of  the  shadow !  I  bless  Thee  that  Thy 
heavenly  life  is  a  life  of  ministration — that  still 
Thou  art  known  in  the  breaking  of  bread !  I 
bless  Thee  that  under  the  folds  of  the  bright 
garment  Thou  keepest  the  print  of  the  nails — 


SUPERSEDED  THE  CROSS?  357 

the  memory  of  human  tears !  Be  mine  Thy 
heaven,  Thou  Christ  of  Easter  Day !  Be 
mine  beyond  the  grave  that  ministrant  life 
of  Thine !  Be  mine  Thy  home  of  helpfulness, 
Thy  Paradise  of  pity !  Let  my  happy  land  of 
Beulah  be  a  land  of  successful  burden-bearing 
— a  land  which  gives  facilities  for  wiping  all 
tears  from  all  eyes!  Then  shall  my  hope  of 
heaven  make  me  pure  on  earth  ;  then  shall 
my  sight  of  coming  glory  prepare  me  for  the 
ministry  to  present  pain.  I  shall  learn  the 
lesson  of  love's  eternity  when  the  light  of 
Easter  Morning  tells  me  that  Thy  first  hour 
in  Paradise  was  an  hour  in  Galilee  I 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  Constable,  Printers  to  His  Majesty 

at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


Date  Due 

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